THE   QUAKER   SOLDIER; 

OR,  THE 

BRITISH  IN  PHILADELPHIA. 

AN    HISTORICAL    NOVEL. 

BY  A   NOTED   JUDQE. 

Complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume  of  569  page*,  bound  in  cloth,  for 
One  Dollar  and  Twenty-five  Cents  ;  or  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  for  $1. 

Head  the  following  Opinion  of  it  by  our  Critical  Reader. 
It  gives  us  great  pleasure  to  announce  to  the  reading  public,  this 
new  Historical  Novel,  called  "The  Quaker  Soldier."     It  would  be 
impossible,  in  this  brief  notice,  to  give  a  fair  idea  of  the  book ;   but 
it  may  be  said  with  safety,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling  ro 
mances  of  the  Revolution  that  has  ever  been  written ;  and  we  hesi 
tate  not  to  predict  for  it  a  popularity  not  surpassed  by  Cooper's 
"  Spy."     The  plot  is  one  that  commends  itself  to  the  reader,  and  the 
characters  are  all  naturally  drawn ;  while  the  descriptive  powers  of 
the  Author  give  to  the  whole  an  interest  that  continues  unabated 
through  the  whole  story.     One  of  the  chief  points  of  attraction  is 
the  vivid  portraiture  of  social  life  among  the  Quakers  of  Philadel- 
'  '..  during  the  Revolution,  and  a  full  explanation  of  the  political 
;ion  they  took,  with  regard  to  the  War. 

sarles  Hazlewood,  alias  "  The  Quaker  Soldier,"  is  the  only  son 
wealthy  Quaker  family,  who  is  driven  from  home  by  his  father's 
tness.     His  experience,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  when  he  en- 
'  on  a  high  career  of  fame,  and  his  adventures  in  Philadelphia 
in  the  American  Army,  during  the  War,  are  full  of  exciting  in- 
*,  and  reveal  to  the  readers  that  part  of  our  history  in  a  new  phase, 
ijor  Ptobinson,  the  Tory  Partisan;  Solomon  Isaakski,  the  Pawn- 
*r;  Mark  Bartle,  the  Spy;  Dr.  Jones,  the  Fighting  Chaplain; 
Aiian  M'Lane ;    Charles  Thomson,  and  General  Conway,  are  indi 
viduals  around  whose  history  are  clustered  a  thick  series  of  exciting 
scenes,  under  every  variety  of  form ;  while  the  Battle  of  German- 
town,  and  the  incidents  preceding  and  succeeding  that  memorable 
event,  are  described  with  so  much  graphic  power  and  minuteness, 
that  you  almost  fancy  you  see  the  fight. 

The  introduction  of  Col.  Lynnford,  a  Continental  officer  of  bravery 
and  great  prowess,  with  his  negro  boy  Toby,  is  done  with  happy 

(xvii) 


XV1U  THE    QUAKER     SOLDIEK. 

effect ;  and  the  heroines  of  the  story,  Kate  Selwyn  and  Ellen  Hazle- 
wood,  are.  embodiments  of  so  much  female  loveliness,  that  they  in 
sensibly  arouse  in  you  a  more  than  common  feeling  as  to  their  fate. 
The  history  of  the  "Conway  Cabal,"  and  the  secret  movements  of 
various  high  officials  while  Congress  was  at  Yorktown,  are  deline 
ated  with  a  master's  pen ;  and  the  character  of  the  immortal  Wash 
ington  is  drawn  with  faithful  truthfulness. 

Many  of  the  citizens  of  Philadelphia  can  follow  the  narrative  from 
beginning  to  end,  with  the  reflection  that  the  scenes  occurred  on  the 
spots  where  now  is  a  populous  city,  while  others  will  be  attracted  by 
events  which,  in  themselves,  contain  the  elements  of  life. 

We  are  satisfied  that  "The  Quaker  Soldier"  will  commend  i*=>«1* 
to  the  grave  student,  as  well  as  to  the  lover  of  light  literature ;  and 
that  all  will  feel  themselves  well  repaid  by  its  perusal ;  and  we  ven 
ture  to  say  that  the  author  will  not  stop  writing  with  "The  Quaker 
Soldier." 

From  the  National  Magazine  for  March. 
"It  is  rarely  that  a  historical  fiction  of  such  merit  makes  its 
ance.     The  Author  does  not  give  his  name,  but  he  is  evidently  a 
a  man  of  ability,  and  a  historical   student  of  the  first  class.     Th> 
of  the  tale  commences  with   the  entry  of  the  British  into   Philadelphia, 
and  closes  with  their  departure  ;  and  we  have  in  this  interval  a  sories  of 
brilliant  pictures  of  the  times,  such  as  no  preceding  novelist  1 
passed.     The  events  leading  to  the  Battle  of  Germantown,  and  tL^  battle 
itself,  are  narrated  with  a  fidelity  which  proves  the  Author  to  be  familiar 
•with  every  foot  of  the  ground,  as  well  as  acquainted  with  many  authentic 
traditions  never  before  in  print.     The  book,  indeed,  is  full  of  loc 
The  Pennsylvania  Dutchman,  for  the  first  time  in  literature,  is  accurately 
and  graphically  drawn.     Nor  is  the  Philadelphia  Quaker  less  i- 
delineated;  for  the  novelist  has  caught,  not  only  the  formal  dialect  of  the 
sect,  but  the  style,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  in  which   genuine,  olti 
Quakers  talked.    This  is  high  praise,  we  know ;  but  it  is  deserved.    There 
is  a  good  deal  of  humor  in  the  work ;  in  fact,  the  Author  succeed?  in  this 
line  better  than  in  pathos.     We  thiuk  the  dramatic  portion  of  th 
superior  to  the  narrative.     In  some  parts  of  the  plot  there  is  a  hi.  tie  ex 
aggeration  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  the  novel  is  one  of  real  merit,  ami  will  be 
appreciated  by  readers  precisely  in  proportion  to  their  intelligc 
culture." 

$gg* Copies  of  either  edition  of  "THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER" 
sent  to  any  person,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  free  of 
on  their  remitting  the  price  of  the  edition  they  may  wish 
publishers,  in  a  letter  post-paid. 

Published  and  for  Sale  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHER 

No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 

To  whom  all  orders  must  come  addressed. 


CHKW'S  HOUSE—THE  BATTLE  OF  GERMANTOWN. 


THE   QUAKER   SOLDIER: 


OB,  THE 


BRITISH  IN  PHILADELPHIA. 


"  The  shout 

Of  battle,  the  barbarian  yell,  the  bray 
Of  dissonant  Instruments,  the  clang  of  arms, 
The  shriek  of  agony,  the  groan  of  death, 
In  one  wild  uproar  and  continued  din, 
Shake  the  still  air ;  while  overhead  the  moon, 
Regardless  of  the  stir  of  this  low  world, 
Holds  on  her  heavenly  way." — Southey's  Madoc. 

"  The  bayonet  pierces,  and  the  sabre  cleaves, 
And  human  lives  are  lavish'd  everywhere, 
As  the  year  closing  whirls  the  scarlet  leaves 
When  the  stript  forest  bows  to  the  bleak  air, 
And  groans."  Byron. 


T.    B.    PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS, 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


i 

^ 


,  „  «  „,  c 

T'  B- 


CONTENTS, 


•*• 


PS 

ZISI 


CHAPTER  PAQS 

Introduction,  ...  ...      xxv 

i.  Caleb  Hazlewood, 31 

n.  Major  Robinson  at  the  Old  Coffee-House,        .        .         42 

in.  Jack  Preston  and  the  Young  Quaker,          .        .        .54 

rv.  A  Quaker  Party  in  1777, 66 

v.  Charles  Hazlewood  at  the  Quaker  Party,     .        .        .77 

vi.  Major  Robinson  a  Prisoner, 88 

vn.  Solomon  Izaakski  the  Pawnbroker,     .        .        .        .95 

vin.  Entry  of  the  Royal  Army  into  Philadelphia,           .       Ill 

ix.  Major  Robinson  Wounded, 126 

x.  Caleb  Hazlewood  and  his  Family,   ....       135 

xi.  Major  Robinson's  Sickness, 147 

xn.  The  Royal  Army  in  Philadelphia,    ....       162 

xm.  The  Quaker  Colonist  and  British  Officer,     .         .         .  177 

xiv.  Charles  Hazlewood's  History  of  his  Life,        .         .       188 

xv.  Charles  Hazlewood  visits  Persia,         ....  208 

f 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOB 

xvi.  Charles  Hazlewood  an  Eastern  Satrap,         .        .       224 

xvii.  Mark  Bartle  the    Spy. — The    Hessians    at    the 

Wissahiccon, 247 

xvin.  The  Racket  Ground  at  Germantown,  .        »    '    .       257 

xix.  Sir  Charles  Aston  and  the  Young  Quaker,      .        .  275 

xx.  The  Camp  at  Skippack. — Arrival  of  Col.  Lynnford,     290 

xxi.  Dr.  Jones,  the  Fighting  Chaplain,  ....  302 

xxn.  The  Eve  of  the  Battle  of  Germantown,     ' '.'"      .       316 

xxin.  The  Battle  of  Germantown,     .....  334 

xxiv.  Chew's  House. — Colonel  Lynnford  on  the  Field 

of  Battle,       .        .        .        .'."..'.  348 

xxv.  Colonel    Lynnford    Wounded. — Jacob    Keyser, 

the  Mennonist, 366 

xxvi.  Allan  M'Lane   visits   Lynnford.— The   Hessian 

Foray, ,       378 

xxvn.  The  Attack  on  Forts  Mifflin  and  Mercer,          .        .  391 

xxvm.  Howe  and  Cornwallis  seek  the  Rebel  Army,       .       404 

xxix.  Lynnford's  Boy  Toby, 413 

xxx.  Colonel  Lynnford  and  the  German  Farmer,         .       429 

xxxi.  General  Washington,       ......  442 

xxxii.  Toby  and  his  Fiddle,    ......       454 

xxxin.  Valley  Forge  in  1778, 460 

xxxiv.  Congress  at  Yorktown. — Colonel  Lynnford  and 

Charles  Thomson,     .        .        .        .        .        .       473 

xxxv.  The  Conway  Cabal, 485 

xxxvi.  Plot  against  Colonel  Lynnford's  Life,          .        .       493 


CONTENTS.  xxiii 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

xxxvn.  Colonel  Lynnford  fights  a  Duel  with  General 

Mifflin, 505 

xxxvni.  Visit  from  Charles  Thomson. — News  from  Home,       521 

xxxix.  Abduction  of  Ellen  Hazlewood   and  her  Mock 

Marriage, ,    «        .  533 

XL.  The  Pawnbroker's  Discovery,  .  .  M  .  545 
XLI.  The  Rescue. — M'Lane's  Light-Horse,  .  ,  .  552 
XLII.  Charles  Hazlewood's  Return. — The  Denouement,  562 


INTRODUCTION. 


AFTER  London  and  Paris,  Philadelphia  contests, 
with  our  other  great  American  city,  the  third  rank  in 
Christendom.  More  than  half  a  million  inhabitants — • 
vast  domestic  commerce — still  vaster  handicraft  and 
manufacturing  industry — material  resources  not  rivaled 
on  this  Continent,  if  anywhere — well  entitle  Philadel 
phia  to  feel  herself  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the  world. 
Yet  a  short  three  quarters  of  a  century  ago  she  was  a 
provincial  town  of  under  forty  thousand  inhabitants. 
This  unparalleled  growth  has  occurred  in  the  lifetime 
of  many  of  us,  under  our  very  eyes ;  and  does  not 
astonish  us  as  if  it  were  a  fact  of  history,  seen  through 
the  vista  of  distance. 

Philadelphia  is  but  one  of  many  great  cities  which 
have  kept  even  pace  until  a  civic  cluster  has  grown 
up,  the  like  nowhere  else  seen  now,  nor  ever,  except 
in  the  Magna  Grascia  of  Ancient  Italy.  "Where  else 
— in  what  single  nation  of  modern  times — do  we  find 
four  such  cities  as  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  New  York, 
and  Boston,  in  such  close  proximity  ?  France  has  her 
Paris,  but  where  are  her  three  other  cities  comparable 
to  ours?  Austria  has  her  Vienna,  but  what  else? 
Even  England  has  no  second  city  to  contest  the  palm 
with  the  second  of  our  glorious  galaxy. 

(xxv) 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  rise  of  our  great  cities  is  but  one  chapter.  A 
lifetime  ago  reaches  beyond  the  birth  of  the  "  Great 
Republic."  Within  that  brief  period — that  single 
point  on  the  surface  of  history — a  great  power  has 
grown  up,  indisputably  of  the  first  class  among  the 
nations  of  the  earth.  Men  have  witnessed  great  em 
pires  formed  gradually,  like  Rome  and  Russia;  or 
rapidly,  like  Alexander's,  Genghis  Khan's,  and  Na 
poleon's  ;  but  they  were  the  gathering  under  one 
government  of  nations  already  in  being,  without  any 
real  increase  of  resources,  and  often  with  a  loss.  Ours 
is  a  new  creation,  not  a  mere  concentration ;  ours  is  a 
new  power,  created  out  of  the  raw  material  of  national 
greatness.  "Where  else  does  a  single  lifetime  cover 
similar  grand  results  ? 

We  are  not  writing  a  treatise,  but  we  must  philoso 
phize  a  word.  The  astonishing  rise  of  our  great  cities 
and  of  our  national  power,  is  the  natural  result  of  free 
institutions  under  favorable  circumstances.  If  man 
were  left  to  the  free  impulses  of  his  natural  energy 
and  industry,  the  earth  would  be  full  of  similar  devel 
opments.  Men  are  governed  into  national  weakness. 
But  why  have  not  other  free  nations  grown  like  us  ? 
From  special  circumstances.  Early  Greece  was  free ; 
but,  instead  of  a  national  union,  she  formed  a  confede 
racy  like  ours  before  the  present  Constitution,  and 
naturally  fell  into  dissensions  and  wars  among  her 
States,  and  eventual  ruin.  Our  National  Union  is  the 
groundwork  of  our  national  prosperity.  If  New  York 
and  Pennsylvania  were  merely  allies,  as  Athens  and 
Sparta  were  under  the  Amphictyonic  League,  we 
should  not  be  long  without  a  Peloponnesian  war. 

Another  word.     The  Great  Republic  is  the  child  of 


INTRODUCTION.  XXvii 

peace.  She  has  carried  on  wars,  but  she  owes  none 
of  her  greatness  to  them.  Her  mission  is  peace.  Her 
prosperity  and  her  progress  are  founded  on  the  arts 
of  peace.  She  has  always  stood,  and  still  stands,  among 
the  nations  almost  without  an  army  and  a  navy.  May 
it  ever  be  so !  But  we  doubt :  we  tremble  for  the 
future.  Our  race  is  the  aggressive  Anglo-Saxon. 
Though  without  an  army,  we  are  an  armed  nation. 
No  people  on  the  earth  has  such  military  spirit,  and 
such  material  of  military  success.  There  needs  but 
the  insane  aggression  of  some  European  bureaucracy 
to  rouse  the  dormant  military  spirit — to  turn  to  war 
like  purposes  those  energies  which  have  been  so 
matchless  in  the  arts  of  peace.  The  fierce  passion  for 
military  glory  once  thoroughly  roused,  may  never 
again  be  stilled.  The  tiger  had  one  lap  of  blood  in 
the  Mexican  war,  and  has  been  restless  ever  since. 
That  was  a  trifle  in  which  few  felt  much  interest.  But 
in  a  European  quarrel,  how  easily  could  we  throw  three 
hundred  thousand  men  into  Italy,  or  Hungary,  or 
Germany  !  How  easily  could  we  rouse  and  arm  the 
republican  masses  of  Europe!  A  truce  to  philoso 
phizing.  We  sat  down  to  write  a  kind  of  narrative. 
It  is  an  especial  pleasure  to  contrast  the  position  our 
Eepublic  occupies  in  the  world  now  with  the  mean 
figure  it  cut  not  long  ago ;  just  as  the  successful  mil 
lionaire  may  recall  the  time  when  he  was  a  pennyless 
errand-boy.  And  also  in  reference  to  our  native  city, 
we  often  ruminate  on  the  humble  periods  of  our  his 
tory.  We  have  talked  with  men  who  saw  the  first 
pavement  laid  down  ;  we  were  brought  up  at  the  feet 
of  those  who  saw  the  "  British  in  Philadelphia ;"  who 
fought  in  the  battle  of  Germantown,  and  laughed  over 


XXV1U  INTRODUCTION. 

"  the  battle  of  tlie  kegs."  We  liave  reminiscences  of 
those  times  which  have  never  appeared  in  print,  and 
probably  never  will. 

In  our  day-dreams  we  have  worked  up  those  remi 
niscences  into  many  a  little  romance.  We  have  often 
taken  an  individual — real  sometimes,  imaginary  some 
times — and  placing  him  in  contact  with  the  incidents 
and  the  men  of  those  times,  have  followed  his  fortunes. 
Our  public  facts  would  all  be  true ;  our  incidents  of 
private  life  mainly  so,  though  in  novel  connections, 
and  borrowed  from  real  personages,  to  adorn  our  ficti 
tious  actors.  Thus  have  we  formed  many  a  history 
which  has  been  forgotten.  Not  all,  however.  There 
is  one  in  our  memory  just  now  which  we  shall  write 
down,  whether  artistically  or  not  we  do  not  know,  for 
we  are  all  unused  to  putting  our  fancies  into  words ; 
but  our  readers  will  find  out  for  themselves.  We 
shall  write  it  down  anyhow. 

We  beg  of  you,  serious  reader,  if  you  touch  our 
narrative,  not  to  call  it  unqualifiedly  "  a  pack  of  lies." 
It  is  a  work  borrowed  from  our  fancy — a  work  of 
fiction ;  but  it  contains  more  truths  than  half  the  his 
tories  you  read.  Our  account  of  the  "  Battle  of  Ger- 
mantown,"  for  instance,  is  not  only  accurate,  but  the 
most  accurate  yet  written,  being  founded  on  the  pub 
lished  histories,  corrected  by  information  from  many 
persons  who  were  present.  We  might  say  the  same 
of  other  affairs.  Our  object  has  not  been  to  write 
history ;  yet  when  historical  facts  were  to  be  recorded, 
we  have  tried  to  be  historically  accurate.  Our  object, 
we  frankly  admit,  has  been  a  work  of  fiction ;  call  it 
romance,  or  novel,  or  whatever  name  you  prefer.  We 
have  wished  to  carry  you  back  to  that  humbler  na- 


INTRODUCTION. 

tional  period  when  your  grandfather — mine  certainly 
— was  a  rebel  against  the  British  crown,  with  a  reason 
able  probability  of  making  an  acquaintance,  more 
intimate  than  agreeable,  with  the  royal  hangman. 
Such  reminiscences  of  the  "rebellion,"  viewed  as  it 
appeared  before  success  had  sanctified  it  into  a  revolu 
tion,  having  been  the  "  sweetest  of  our  sweet  fancies." 
Your  tastes  are  the  same — we  hope. 


THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER; 


OR,   THE 


BRITISH  IN  PHILADELPHIA. 


CHAPTER   I. 

CALEB   HAZLEWOOD. 

THE  twenty-fifth  of  September,  in  the  year  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  seventy-seven,  was  a 
memorable  day  in  the  annals  of  Philadelphia.  The 
city — then  the  metropolis  of  the  rebellious  colonies — 
had  been  placed  by  the  battle  of  Brandywine  at  the 
mercy  of  the  Crown ;  the  rebel  government  had  fled 
into  the  interior,  and  left  it  to  its  fate ;  the  Eoyal  army 
was  encamped  on  the  heights  of  Chestnut  Hill,  some 
nine  miles  distant ;  and  their  triumphant  entry  on  this 
day  had  been  duly  arranged  and  announced.  Truly,  the 
twenty-fifth  of  September  was  to  be  a  memorable  day. 

As  the  time  of  the  grand  entry  was  not  precisely 
known,  the  city  had  been  all  excited  from  early  in 
the  morning.  Men  singly  and  in  groups  stood  at  the 
corners,  and  on  the  street  sides ;  women  and  children 
thronged  the  open  windows  and  front  porches,  and 

(31) 


32  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

doorsteps ;  boys  clustered  on  the  trees  and  fences ;  the 
population  was  alive  with  expectation.  Occasionally, 
bands  of  impatient  spirits,  weary  of  waiting  at  any  one 
point,  would  rush  along  the  streets,  gathering  numbers 
as  they  went,  hurrying  nowhere  in  particular,  but  jos 
tling  and  running  over  the  more  quiet  spectators. 

Thus  the  scene  of  expectation  continued.  But  the 
day  wore  away  till  mid-afternoon,  and  still  there  was 
no  sight  of  the  Eoyal  army.  One  by  one  the  people 
began  to  drop  away,  and  the  streets  were  becoming 
gradually  empty.  At  length,  however — at  the  time 
we  choose  for  the  commencement  of  our  narrative — 
the  flagging  hopes  of  the  still  lingering  masses  were 
suddenly  revived.  A  horseman,  in  the  scarlet  uniform, 
appeared  galloping  into  the  city.  At  some  distance 
behind  he  was  attended  by  a  single  follower,  appa 
rently  a  mounted  orderly.  But,  half  hidden  by  the 
cloud  of  dust  which  rolled  along  with  him,  that  single 
follower  was  magnified  into  at  least  a  troop,  and  the 
whole  army  was  thought  to  be  at  hand.  The  excite 
ment  at  once  became  intense.  "  The  troops !"  "  The 
troops !"  shouted  and  echoed  in  every  direction,  soon 
brought  the  more  loyal  portion  of  the  citizens  again 
into  the  streets. 

The  horseman,  meanwhile,  unaware  or  regardless 
of  the  excitement  he  caused,  continued  onward  at  a 
rapid  gallop.  His  course  was  along  that  street,  in  the 
prim  geography  of  the  right-angled  city,  termed 
Second,  then  one  of  the  principal  thoroughfares,  and 
the  route  by  which  the  Eoyal  army  was  expected. 
Those  who  took  notice  of  such  things — as  some  of  the 
perceptive  sex  certainly  did — observed  that  he  was  a 
very  handsome  man,  splendidly  equipped  and  mounted, 


CALEB   HAZLEWOOD.  33 

and  that  lie  rode  like  a  "good  cavalier,"  while  his 
follower  was  almost  equally  well- mounted,  though 
much  more  plainly  equipped.  As  we  have  said,  the 
horseman  rode  rapidly,  taking  heed  of  none,  nor  re 
garding  the  excitement  which  arose  at  his  coming, 
and  died  away  behind  him.  And  thus  he  went  on 
ward  until  he  reached  the  "  Old  Coffee-house,"  then 
the  favorite  inn,  as  well  as  fashionable  resort  of  business 
and  pleasure.  There  he  baited,  and  throwing  his 
bridle:rein  to  his  attendant,  sprung  lightly  from  the 
stirrups. 

"  Major  Robinson !"  uttered  by  more  than  one  of 
the  crowd,  showed  that  the  officer  was  recognized.  He 
was  at  once  surrounded  by  an  eager  crowd,  pressing 
on  him  with  inquiries ;  but,  with  a  few  evasive  answers, 
he  walked  directly  into  the  Coffee-house.  No  tidings 
could  be  got  from  him,  and  the  delay  of  his  Majesty's 
army  still  remained  a  mystery. 

The  crowds  now  began  to  give  up  hopes  for  the  day, 
and  were  soon  retiring  in  earnest  to  their  homes.  Of 
course  every  one  had  his  own  opinion  as  to  the  non- 
appearance  of  the  troops,  and  many  sage  conjectures 
were  exchanged  on  the  subject.  Some  of  the  Whigs 
• — for  a  few  of  them  still  remained  in  the  city,  though 
those  of  mark  who  were  not  in  the  service  had  fled  to 
Beading  and  other  interior  towns — began  to  crow  over 
their  loyal  neighbors  in  their  disappointment.  The 
Tories  felt  chapfallen.  The  full  flood  of  their  exulta 
tion  was  checked  and  thrown  back. 

Of  the  various  little  groups  which  were  hastening 

homeward,  we  shall    especially  notice  one.      It  was 

composed   of  three  persons;    an    elderly   Quaker,  a 

young  one,  and  one  middle-aged  man,  who  evidently 

2 


34  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

did  not  "  belong  to  meeting."  They  were  discussing 
the  topic  which  occupied  everybody's  tongue ;  but 
before  we  phonophize  their  talk,  we  will  note  their 
appearance. 

The  elderly  Quaker  was  a  tall  and  portly  personage, 
six  feet  at  least,  and  stoutly  proportioned ;  considerably 
past  his  grand  climacteric,  bat  so  "  well  kept"  that  you 
could  not  call  him  old.  His  snuff-colored  coat,  drab 
breeches  and  waistcoat,  and  broad  black  beaver,  all  of 
the  finest  material,  though  quakerishly-fashioned, 
fitted  him  exactly ;  while,  to  complete  his  costume, 
you  must  add  long  silk  stockings,  high  quartered 
shoes,  well  blacked,  and  silver  shoe-buckles,  equally 
well  polished.  On  the  whole,  his  personality  was  an 
excellent  specimen  of  the  best  class  of  Quakers ;  an 
illustration,  too,  of  the  curious  fact  that  the  Quakers 
have  the  best  complexions  in  our  country,  and  are 
the  "  best  kept"  men  and  women,  and  actually  the 
best  dressed.  His  countenance  was  handsome,  though 
fuller  and  rounder  than  the  ordinary  American  type, 
which  even  at  that  early  day  had  begun  to  become 
thinner  and  more  intellectual  looking  than  the  parent 
race;  and  it  showed  a  placid  firmness,  which  those 
who  "have  had  affairs"  with  the  Friends  would  inter 
pret  into  inflexible  obstinacy. 

The  younger  Quaker  was  of  some  indefinite  age 
between  twenty  and  forty.  You  have  seen  such  men, 
I  do  not  doubt ;  at  twenty  you  think  them  old-looking, 
at  forty  the  reverse;  and  you  have  generally  found 
them  men  of  marked  character.  Our  young  Quaker 
was  two  inches  at  least  under  six  feet ;  broad-shoul 
dered,  deep-chested,  long-bodied,  narrow-hipped,  yet 
not  heavily  built.  At  a  glance,  you  would  pronounce 


CALEB   HAZLEWOOD.  35 

him  a  man  both  strong  and  active.  He  was  not  hand 
some,  however,  unless  you  admire  a  prominent  nose 
and  strongly-marked  features.  His  face  was  the  kind 
which  you  would  not  fall  in  love  with  at  first  sight, 
supposing  you  a  young  lady ;  but  which,  supposing 
you  a  man  who  has  given  and  taken  hard  knocks, 
you  would  look  to  with  respect.  Your  wonder  would 
be,  what  that  face,  tanned  and  weather-beaten,  and 
marked  with  "  the  lines  of  fierce  hopes,"  was  doing 
under  that  Quaker  beaver. 

The  third  personage  was  in  the  garb  of  the  "  world's 
people ;"  rather  small,  rather  oldish,  but  remarkably 
genteel;  an  "  old  beau"  you  would  probably  call  him. 
And  so  he  was.  His  well-powdered  head  and  well- 
tied  queue,  his  satin  breeches  and  black-silk  stockings, 
and  golden  knee-buckles  and  silver  shoe-buckles,  and 
three-cornered  hat,  were  all  exactly  comme  il  faut  in 
the  dandydom  of  those  days  ;  and  at  present,  if  worn, 
would  designate  a  "  gentleman  of  the  old  school,"  a 
little  older  than  any  existing  specimens. 

The  trio  were  walking  side  by  side ;  the  elder 
Quaker  next  the  wall,  and  the  younger  outside,  with 
the  old  beau  between  them.  In  reply  to  some  remark 
of  the  other,  the  old  Quaker  was  saying,  "  I  tell  thee, 
George  Selwyn,  it  matters  not  when  his  Majesty's 
troops  march  in ;  to-day,  to-morrow,  or  next  day  ;  the 
rebellion  is  entirely  suppressed." 

"Is  it  certain?  Altogether  certain?"  interposed 
the  old  beau,  who  had  been  a  Whig  until  the  battle 
of  the  Brandywine  convinced  him  of  the  superior 
merits  of  the  Royal  cause. 

"  I  tell  thee,  yes.  The  rebel  army  is  entirely  dis 
persed.  George  AVashington  himself  has  fled  over 


36  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

the  Blue  Mountains,  and  will  never  be  heard  of  again, 
•unless  he  is  taken.  But  I  hope  Government  will  deal 
mercifully  with  him  and  the  other  misguided  men 
who  have  disturbed  the  peace  of  the  Colonies.  Gov 
ernment  was  severe  when  the  rebellion  of  '45  was 
suppressed,  but  I  hope  there  will  be  a  more  Christian 
spirit  now." 

"  I  am  afraid  those  will  have  to  suffer  who  have 
been  so  rash  as  to  take  up  arms  against  his  Majesty — 
God  bless  him!" — said  the  old  beau,  taking  off  his 
hat  reverently. 

"  And  those  who  gave  the  rebels  aid  and  comfort, 
who  were  Whigs  at  heart — eh,  neighbor  Selwyn  ?" 
interposed  the  Quaker,  stopping  short  and  looking  at 
the  other  with  a  smile. 

"Ton  honor,  Mr.  Hazlewood,"  replied  the  other 
hurriedly,  "I  am  free  from  the  taint  of  rebellion." 

"  Thou !"  said  the  Quaker,  in  a  tone  which  implied 
a  thousand  contradictions. 

"Do  you  doubt  my  word!"  exclaimed  the  other, 
angrily ;  "  a  gentleman's  word !" 

"  I  suppose,  George,  thee  will  challenge  me,  if  I 
doubt  thy  word,"  replied  the  Quaker,  laughing  ;  "  but 
thee  certainly  was  a  Whig  once.  We  Tories  thought 
it  strange  that  thou,  a  man  of  fortune,  of  high  English 
family — noble  family,  in  fact — should  join  in  with 
these  low  fellows  to  oppose  Government." 

"I  never  did  oppose  Government,"  exclaimed  the 
other.  "  I  defy  any  man  to  prove  I  ever  did." 

"  Well,  George,  we'll  not  quarrel  about  it,"  replied 
the  Quaker ;  "  but,  any  how,  thee  was  very  thick  with 
Charles  Thomson,  and  other  noted  rebels." 

"  I  defy  any  man  to  prove  I  was  a  Whig,"  resumed 


CALEB  HAZLEWOOD.  37 

the  other.  "True  enough,  I  did  think  Government 
had  no  right  to  tax  the  Colonies  without  their  being 
represented,  and  I  may  have  said  so ;  but  I  never  ap 
proved  of  arming  against  his  Majesty — God  bless 
him  !" — and  he  took  of  his  hat  again  like  a  true  old 
Cavalier. 

"  And  the  right  to  tax  the  Colonies,  what  does  thee 
think  of  it  now  ?"  said  the  Quaker,  when  the  other 
paused  while  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  I  think,"  replied  the  beau,  "  I  think  much  can 
be  said  on  both  sides  of  that  question." 

"  But  what  does  thee  think  of  it,  father  ?"  here  in 
terposed  the  younger  Quaker,  who  had  been  hitherto 
silent,  though  evidently  manifesting  ^interest  in  the 
conversation. 

"I  think,"  replied  the  old  Quaker,  more  sharply 
than  the  occasion  seemed  to  demand,  "  there  are  some 
questions  which  need  not  be  answered,  and  miglic  as 
well  not  be  asked."  The  young  man  was  taken  aback 
by  this  answer,  and  seemed  for  a  moment  embarrassed, 
but  rallied;  and,  as  if  resolved,  since  he  had  begun, 
to  continue  the  exercise  of  his  tongue,  he  spoke  to  the 
old  beau.  "George  Selwyn,  thee  is  actually  not  a 
Whig?"  Before  an  answer  could  be  given,  the  old 
Quaker  interposed, 

"  Thee'd  better  not  question  neighbor  Selwyn  ;  he's 
been  but  recently  converted  by  the  Brandy  wine,  like 
many  others." 

"Base  cowards!"  exclaimed  the  young  Quaker,  "  to 
desert  a  good  cause  because  it  is  unfortunate." 

"A  good  cause,  my  son?  What  does  the:; 
mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,"  replied  the  young  man  firmly,  looking 


38  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

at  his  father,  "  that  I  think  the  cause  of  the  Colonies 
just." 

"  Tut,  son,  thee  knows  nothing  about  the  contro 
versy  ;  thee  has  been  out  of  the  country  until  two 
weeks  ago.  Wait  till  thee  knows  before  thee  speaks." 

"  But,  father,  if  I  think  the  home  Government  has 
no  right  to  tax  the  Colonies,  is  it  wrong  to  say 
so?" 

"  My  son,  we  are  told  to  be  wise  as  serpents  and 
harmless  as  doves.  We  Friends  render  to  Caesar  the 
things  which  are  Caesar's,  and  we  stand  by  the  es 
tablished  Government  for  conscience'  sake.  Thy  ques 
tion  is  an  abstraction,  which  it  is  not  profitable  to 
consider.  Furthermore,  my  son,  it  is  not  now  the 
time  to  avow  such  sentiments  as  thine." 

"  I  will  be  discreet,  father.  But  does  thee  feel  per 
fectly  certain  that  the  rebellion  is  entirely  repressed  ?" 
said  the  young  man,  with  an  expression  on  his  coun 
tenance  which  would  have  puzzled  anybody  not  ac 
quainted  with  his  history. 

At  this  instant  the  old  beau  exclaimed,  "  My  Kate  ! 
Miss  Hazlewood !"  and  skipped  forward  to  meet  two 
young  ladies  who  were  approaching  in  the  opposite 
direction.  It  was  only  his  own  daughter,  and  one  of 
her  friends,  the  daughter  of  our  old  Quaker.  But  the 
beau  was  in  his  element;  bowing  as  nobody  bows 
now-a-dayJs'/Ms'hat  in  hand — for  not  to  uncover  to  a 
lady  would  have  utterly  shocked  the  preux  chevalier 
of  a  "lifetime  a'gb" — and  complimenting,  and  "making 
the  amiable,- ;;|;<' 

Those  young  ladies  are  figures  in  our  reminiscences, 
and  we  must  give  you  an  idea  of  their  appearance. 
Can  we  describe  a  lady  ?  Doubtful. 


CALEB  HAZLEWOOD.  39 

Ellen  Hazlewood  was  a  type  of  Quaker  beauty, 
some  would  say  of  female  loveliness.  Rather  taller 
than  the  middle  height,  regular  features,  clear,  red, 
and  white  complexion,  a  figure  full,  but  gracefully 
moulded — voluptuously,  we  would  say,  were  it  not 
that  the  contour  was  chastened  by  the  perfect  inno 
cence  of  her  face.  Her  whole  expression  so  pure,  so 
unconscious  even  of  its  own  loveliness,  that  you  would 
say  it  had  never  been  soiled  by  an  evil  thought.  Her 
costume  was  the  ordinary  Quaker  garb  of  the  present 
day,  as  it  was  of  the  times  we  are  describing,  as  it  has 
been  of  the  sect  since  its  origin,  when  it  was  the  dress 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon  middle-classes,  as  the  "  thee"  and 
"  thou"  was  their  general  style  of  address ;  but  she 
wore  the  Quaker  garb  without  being  disfigured  by  it, 
which  we  hold  for  a  true  test  of  female  beauty. 

The  other  lady,  Catherine  Selwyn,  was  almost  a 
perfect  contrast.  Much  smaller,  a  dark  complexion, 
irregular  and  not  handsome  features,  eyes,  eyebrows, 
and  hair  of  the  darkest  hue,  hands  and  feet  extra 
ordinarily  small ;  a  figure,  however,  exquisitely 
moulded.  At  first  acquaintance  you  would  call  her 
ugly ;  but  when  her  face  and  eyes  were  lighted  up 
from  within,  you  would  find  that  she  was  nearly  the 
most  beautiful  and  quite  the  most  fascinating  woman 
you  had  ever  seen;  the  woman  to  inspire  a  grand 
passion  of  the  pure  Eros :  the  woman  to  lose  a  world 
for. 

While  her  father  was  bowing  and  speaking,  Cathe 
rine  Selwyn's  face  kindled  up,  and  the  expression 
changed  several  times,  as  if  mirroring  a  rapid  succes 
sion  of  bright  thoughts. 

"  I  declare,  pa,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  an  opportunity 


40  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

•was  given  her,  "your  bow  is  perfect ;  the  best  about 
town.  I  wish  you  would  teach  it  to  some  of  the  rising 
generation — Mr.  Charles  Hazlewood,  for  instance." 

"  Kate  !  why,  Kate  !"  interrupted  her  father. 

"  Indeed,  pa,"  resumed  she,  "  I  am  pert ;  I  know  it ; 
but  I  cannot  help  it.  When  funny  thoughts  come,  I 
must  let  them  out.  But  do,  pa,  consider  the  scene. 
There  you  stood,  making  the  best  bow  in  the  world  ; 
your  hat  gracefully  waved  off  your  head,  and  grace 
fully  returned.  There  stood  Mr.  Hazlewood  ;  he  did 
not  bow,  nor  take  off  his  hat,  but  he  nodded  gracefully, 
and  he  stood  like  a  graceful  man.  But  Mr.  Charles 
Hazlewood !  Excuse  me,  pa,  if  I  do  not  say  how  he 
looked." 

It  was  a  fact.  The  young  Quaker,  Charles  Hazle 
wood,  did  look,  just  then,  amazingly  unlike  a  graceful 
man.  When  he  first  saw  the  ladies  he  started  ;  then 
looked  around  as  if  seeking  a  hiding-place ;  then  stood 
like  an  awkward  school-boy,  blushing  and  changing 
countenance.  But  Catherine  Selwyn,  if  she  knew  the 
cause,  as,  wicked  baggage !  she  probably  did,  ought 
to  have  been  the  last  person  to  ridicule  his  awkward 
confusion. 

The  old  Quaker  probably  suspected  the  cause  ;  for 
your  old  Quakers  are  not  blind  in  such  matters,  and 
interposed  by  inquiring  what  Catherine  and  Ellen 
were  doing  in  the  street. 

"  On  very  serious  business,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Hazle 
wood,"  she  answered.  "  We  are  going  to  a  tea-party, 
or  some  other  merry-making,  at  Mr.  Pennington's. 
We  ladies  go  at  four ;  and  you  gentlemen  will  come 
at  six,  I  suppose.  We'll  see  you  there,  of  course, 
Mr.  Hazlewood.  The  officers  were  to  have  been  there 


CALEB  HAZLEWOOD.  41 

but  have  not  arrived,  and  so  the  jubilee  in  their  honor 
must  go  on  without  them.  I  hope  nobody  will  kill 
the  fatted-calf  for  them  again." 

"  Hush,  Kate !"  said  her  father,  looking  timidly 
around. 

"  Why,  pa  ?" 

"  You'll  get  yourself  into  trouble." 

"Not  by  talk,  pa.  The  tongue  is  a  woman's 
weapon ;  and  I  cannot  believe  even  the  British  officers 
would  be  so  ungenerous  as  to  trouble  me  for  using  it 
frankly.  1  shall  try  them,  any  how.  If  I  hear  them 
talking  of  hanging  "Washington,  I  will  laugh  at  them 
for  braggarts." 

"  Fortunately,  Kate,  none  will  be  there  to-night  but 
Major  Robinson." 

"  Walter  Robinson  !"  exclaimed  old  Mr.  Hazlewood, 
interrupting  him.  "  When  did  he  arrive  ?  Where  is 
he?" 

At  the  name  of  Walter  Robinson  the  young  Quaker 
girl  turned  pale,  followed  by  a  flush  of  the  deepest 
hue,  and  for  a  moment  seemed  sinking  down.  There 
was  evidently  a  secret  there. 


/•*••• 

•  =' 

CHAPTEE   II. 

MAJOR  ROBINSON  AT  THE   OLD   COFFEE-HOUSE. 

A  WORD,  now,  of  the  officer  who  had  alighted  at 
the  Coffee-house. 

Major  Robinson  was  in  command  of  a  partizan 
corps  called  the  "  Colonial  Rangers,"  raised  from  the 
Tory  population  of  the  Colonies,  though  on  the  regular 
pay-rolls  of  the  Royal  army.  From  the  unwillingness, 
perhaps,  of  the  better  class  of  Tories  to  serve  against 
their  own  countrymen,  troops  of  this  kind  were  gene 
rally  mauvaiscs  si/jets ;  quite  as  ready  to  plunder  and 
burn  and  rob,  as  to  fight ;  and  Major  Robinson's  com 
mand  was  no  exception.  A  very  little  more  would 
have  made  them  regular  banditti.  Their  commandant, 
however,  was  an  officer  bearing  the  king's  commission  ; 
and  being  of  a  very  gentlemanly  address,  even  stood 
high  in  the  service.  "What  his  real  character  was  will 
appear  hereafter.  Against  his  appearance  certainly 
not  a  word  could  be  said. 

The  host  of  the  Coffee-house  ushered  him  into  a 
private  apartment,  with  that  peculiar  attention  which 
"mine  host"  pays  only  to  one  who  is  "every  inch  a 
gentleman"  in  his  appreciation.  Major  Robinson  or 
dered  refreshments ;  a  bottle  of  Madeira  at  once ; 
dinner  as  soon  as  possibly  it  could  be  ready,  and  the 
best  in  the  house.  He  then  disencumbered  himself  of 
his  equipments  ;  his  heavy  silk  scarf;  his  sword,  with 
(42) 


MAJOR  ROBINSON   AT  THE   OLD  COFFEE-HOUSE.      43 

its  belt  and  scabbard ;  a  pair  of  pocket-pistols ;  and 
his  massive  silver  spurs.  Before  he  parted  with  the 
sword,  he  glanced  over  the  scabbard  of  black  morocco, 
half  covered  with  silver  mountings ;  drew  the  blade,  a 
light  cut-and-thrust — too  light  for  service,  unless  in 
the  hands  of  one  who  trusted  more  to  skill  than  to 
strength — then  laid  the  weapon  down  on  a  small 
table,  with  the  hilt  carefully  clear  of  the  belt.  The 
pistols  also  were  carefully  scrutinized ;  the  primings 
examined ;  the  bullets  felt  with  the  ramrod  ;  and  then 
they  were  carefully  laid  down  beside  the  sword.  The 
scarf  was  thrown  carefully — though  with  great  appa 
rent  carelessness — over  the  whole,  so  as  to  hide  the 
weapons  almost,  but  not  entirely.  The  whole  manner 
showed  that  Walter  Robinson  was  a  man  accustomed 
to  keep  himself  and  his  weapons  ready  for  whatever 
might  happen. 

Being  disencumbered,  the  officer  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  several  times,  pausing  occasionally  before  a 
small  circular  mirror  to  take  a  glance  at  himself.  That 
mirror  had  often  reflected  a  worse  figure  and  face. 
Major  Robinson  would  have  passed  anywhere  for  a 
handsome  man.  Not  half  an  inch  under  six  feet ; 
a  face  of  Nature's  finest  fashioning,  though  almost 
feminine  in  some  of  its  lines;  a  person  elegantly 
formed,  with  grace  in  every  limb  and  muscle ;  broad 
shoulders,  relieved  by  a  waist  narrower  than  usual  in 
strong  men.  Add,  what  contributes  not  a  little  to  a 
man's  personal  appearance,  that  he  had  all  the  accom 
plishments  of  the  day,  and  "  the  habit  of  society,"  then 
rare  in  the  Colonies.  He  danced  well,  rode  well,  fenced 
well,  talked  well ;  and  could  flirt  "  like  an  angel,"  as  we 
once  heard  an  old  Frenchwoman  say.  He  could  turn 


44  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

over  music ;  could  cut-out  patchwork,  or  wind  silk,  or 
thread  a  needle,  or  talk  soft  nonsense,  or  sing  snatches 
of  tunes,  or  repeat  ends  of  verses,  or  imitate  musical 
instruments,  or  look  lackadaisical ;  in  fine,  he  was 
the  very  pink  of  agreeable  men. 

Just  now,  however,  his  thoughts  were  not  exactly 
on  carpet-knight  accomplishments.  After  walking  a 
few  minutes  he  began  to  show  considerable  impatience, 
relieved  at  last  by  a  small  oath,  which  we  shall  nol 
repeat. 

"  The  fellow  ought  to  be  here — ought  to  have  beer 
here  as  soon  as  I.  Where  can  he  be  loitering  ?  Bu1 
ha,  that  must  be  he !"  While  he  was  speaking  thug 
to  himself  a  light  knock  at  the  door  was  given  and 
repeated,  and  immediately  a  person  entered. 

"  Ha  !   Captain  Preston  !     Come  at  last — but  late  ?' 

"  Could  not  be  helped,  major ;  had  to  take  a  round 
to  avoid  observation." 

"  Where  are  the  men  ?" 

"The  place  I  cannot  exactly  describe,  but  I  can 
have  them  here  in  half  an  hour." 

"  I  do  not  want  them  till  after  dark :  be  sure  they 
are  in  readiness  then." 

"  Are  we  not  always  ready  ?" 

"  I  do  not  dispute  it." 

"But  what  is  in  the  wind  now?  What  special 
duty  for  us  to-night  ?  To  forage  among  the  rich  Qua 
kers  ?  I  have  marked  several  houses  where  I  think 
something  can  be  got." 

"  Public  duty  to-night,  Captain  Preston." 

"But,  major — but — you've  not  asked  me  yet  to 
taste  your  Madeira,"  said  the  captain. 


MAJOR   ROBINSON   AT   THE   OLD  COFFEE-HOUSE.      45 

"  Help  yourself,  of  course ;  then  sit  down  until  I 
explain  what  I  want  done." 

"  Your  good  health,  major,"  said  the  captain,  pouring 
out  a  glass  of  the  wine,  and  taking  a  seat  at  the  table, 
near  the  bottle  and  wine-glasses.  Major  Robinson  sat 
down  on  the  other  side,  and  poured  out  a  glass  for 
himself ;  but  took  a  gentle  sip,  with  a  genteel  smack 
of  the  lips,  instead  of  the  single  gulph  of  his  ruder 
companion. 

"  I  have  information,"  resumed  the  major,  "of  several 
noted  rebels  still  in  the  town,  and  I  know  where  they 
will  lodge  to-night.  I  mean  to  ijab  them." 

Captain  Preston  gave  a  kind  of  smothered  whistle, 
and  quietly  said  :  "  Will  it  pay,  major  ?" 

"  It  is  my  duty,  as  a  Eoyal  officer,  to  arrest  them." 

"  But  will  it  pay  ?"  repeated  the  captain. 

"I  receive  my  pay  in  his  Majesty's  service,  and  that 
is  enough  pay  for  me." 

u  Major,  are  you  funning  me  ?  You  look  serious. 
Are  you  going  to  try  the  game  of  propriety  once 
more  ?  I'll  not  stand  it ;  I  tell  you,  I'll  not." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Captain  Preston  ?"  said  Major 
Eobinson,  apparently  excited. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  mean  exactly  this.  I 
do  not  care  a  fig  for  the  Royal  cause  ;  nor  do  you.  We 
serve  the  king,  because  it  is  a  very  good  cloak  for  the 
profitable  business  we  carry  on  sttb  rosa.  In  public, 
put  on  what  appearances  you  please ;  but  among  our 
selves,  put  on  your  own  looks.  You  do  not  care  for 
the  king's  cause,  or  you  would  not  allow  us  to  plunder 
the  king's  friends." 

"  Captain  Preston,  tell  me  when  I  ever  countenanced 
any  plundering  of  the  king's  friends  V" 


46  THE   QUAKER   SOLDIER. 

"  Major,  you  receive  regularly  one-fourth  the  plun 
der  we  get,  the  rest  being  divided  among  us ;  and 
you  know  perfectly  it  must  be  squeezed  out  of  friend 
and  foe." 

"  You  certainly  do  not  tell  me  that  what  I  have 
been  receiving  from  the  corps  as  spoils  of  legitimate 
warfare  is  plunder  ;  plunder,  too,  of  the  king's  friends  ! 
Certainly  you  do  not  suppose  that  I  could  have  been 
aware  of  the  fact  ?  Eemember,  captain,  I  am  a  gen 
tleman  by  birth,  and  an  officer ;  how  can  you  suppose 
I  could  countenance  what  would  be  no  better  than 
robbery  I" 

"  This  is  carrying  the  joke  too  far,  major,"  exclaimed 
Captain  Preston,  rising  angrily  from  his  chair. 

"  Sit  down  again,  my  friend,  and  hear  a  word  of 
reason.  Do  you  remember  the  first  time  we  ever  met  ? 
I  do.  Soon  after  I  took  command  of  the  Colonial 
Eangers,  in  New  York,  we  were  involved  in  a  skir 
mish  with  a  superior  force  of  rebels.  I  was  cut  off 
from  the  corps,  and  with  my  back  to  a  tree  was  mak 
ing  the  best  fight  I  could  against  numbers.  Do  you 
remember?" 

"Yes;  and  how  astonished  I  was  to  see  our  new 
commandant — so  effeminate-looking — turn  out  a  gal 
lant  soldier." 

"In  my  utmost  strait  I  saw  a  tall  man  making 
way  through  the  enemy,  wielding  a  musket  grasped 
at  the  muzzle,  and  striking  down  a  rebel  at  every 
blow.  That  man  was  Jack  Preston.  You  saved  my 
life,  Jack  Preston;  we  cannot  quarrel."  The  major 
sprang  up  and  grasped  Captain  Preston's  hand. 

"  We  cannot  quarrel,"  said  the  captain,  with  more 
emotion  than  you  would  have  suspected,  if  you  knew 


MAJOR   ROBINSON  AT  THE   OLD   COFFEE-HOUSE.      47 

his  character.  "  You  found  me  in  the  ranks ;  you 
made  me  a  sergeant ;  got  me  my  commission  as  lieu 
tenant,  and  as  captain." 

"Now  listen  to  me,"  said  Major  Robinson,  when 
they  had  resumed  their  seats,  and  filled  up  the 
glasses. 

"  Perhaps,  Jack  Preston,  I  am  as  bad  as  you  are ; 
as  the  corps  generally ;  but  I  try  to  persuade  myself 
otherwise.  I  have  prejudices  of  birth  and  of  associ 
ating  with  gentlemen,  which  you  have  not.  Do  let 
me  try  to  deceive  myself  if  I  can.  You  feel  free,  as 
the  Quakers  say,  to  do  things  which  I  can  not  call 
exactly  right.  Take  your  own  course;  I  have  not 
hindered  you,  and  I  shall  not.  But  indulge  me  in 
this.  Do  not  tell  me  that  any  of  the  spoils  you  give 
me  is  plunder  of  the  king's  friends." 

"  Well,"  said  Captain  Preston,  with  a  laugh,  "  we 
never  plunder  anybody  but  rebels,  'pon  honor,  major  ! 
And  we  plunder  them  because  it  is  oar  duty  to  weaken 
his  Majesty's  enemies.  Is  that  the  right  footing  for 
the  corps  to  be  placed  on?" 

"  That  will  do,"  replied  Major  Eobinson. 

"  Now,  major,"  resumed  Captain  Preston,  "  you  will 
tell  me  how  the  corps — I  do  not  speak  of  the  com 
mander — but  how  the  corps  is  to  gain  any  thing  by 
nabbing  rebels '/" 

"Besides  several  members  of  Congress,  there  is 
Allan  M'Lean,  and  the  fighting-parson,  Dr.  Jones :  a 
heavy  reward  is  on  their  heads." 

"  If  we  can  nab  Captain  M'Lean,  that  will  be  some 
thing  worth  while." 

"  But,  Preston,  do  not  you  see  that  catching  any  of 


48  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

these  rebels  will  raise  the  credit  of  the  corps,  and 
cover  a  multitude  of  sins." 

"  I  see ;  I  see ;  but  are  you  sure  of  them  ?" 

"  I  have  their  holes  all  marked,  as  we  fox-hunters 
used  to  say.  As  soon  as  it  is  dark,  you  can  post  the 
men  so  as  to  catch  every  one  of  them." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  detain  us  long  on  the  ser 
vice." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  We  are  tired,  and  wish  to  go  to  sleep — to  sleep,  of 
course.  What  else  should  our  moral,  orderly  corps  be 
doing  ?  You  do  not  suspect  us  certainly  of  intending 
to  use  the  present  opportunity,  when  there  is  no  police 
and  no  patrols,  to  visit  some  of  the  well-filled  Quaker 
strong-boxes  ;  you  do  not  suspect  us,  do  you,  major?" 

The  host  of  the  Coffee-house  now  entered,  followed 
by  a  servant  to  lay  a  table  for  dinner.  Captain  Pres 
ton  accepted  an  invitation  to  remain,  and  the  dinner 
was  duly  served.  Those  were  days  when  gentlemen 
— all  gentlemen — sat  over  their  wine ;  and  the  two 
officers  of  the  Hangers  were  certainly  not  averse  to 
the  fashion. 

"  The  ladies !"  said  Captain  Preston,  filling  up  his 
glass  after  the  cloth  was  removed,  or  rather  running  it 
over ;  that  worthy,  though  not  already  drunk,  being 
somewhat  in  the  vinous  state.  "  The  ladies !  Major 
Kobinson ;  the  ladies,  with  all  the  honors  !" 

"  The  ladies ! — the  lady !  rather,  I  should  say,"  re 
sponded  Major  Robinson,  who  had  sipped  several 
glasses  in  a  gentlemanly  way,  and  felt  good-natured 
and  friendly. 

"  The  lady !  Ha,  major  the  lady !  Narrowed  down 
to  one,  I  see?" 


MAJOR  ROBINSON    AT  THE   OLD   COFFEE-HOUSE.      49 

u  Yes,  captain,  narrowed  down  to  one — one  luscious 
morsel,  Jack  Preston !" 

"  Who  is  it,  major  ?" 

"  None  of  my  old  affairs,  Jack ;  one  I  want  to 
marry." 

"  Pfu — y — marry  !     You  marry,  major  1" 

"She's  rich,  and  her  fortune  will  set  me  on  my 
feet." 

"  Money,  not  love,  major  ?  All  right.  A  man — a 
wise  man — may  marry  to  get  money  ;  but  only  a  boy 
— and  a  foolish  boy,  too — marries  for  love." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  do  love  her!     Oh,  Jack  Preston " 

We  cannot  bring  ourself  to  write  down  the  sensuous 
rhapsody  which  Major  Eobinson — a  true  worshiper 
of  the  Anti-Eros — poured  into  the  ears  of  his  even 
more  sensuous  comrade. 

"  Besides,  she's  rich." 

"  Worth  how  much,  major  ?"  interrupted  Captain 
Preston. 

"  Her  father,  old  Caleb  Hazlewood,  a  kind  of  left- 
hand  uncle  of  mine,  has  some  hundred  thousand 
pounds ;  and  there  is  but  one  child,  a  son,  besides 
her." 

"A  brother  to  share  the  fortune.  Is  he  man  or 
boy?" 

"  A  man  by  this  time,  I  suppose ;  but  I've  never 
seen  him.  Six  years  or  more  ago  he  went  away,  be 
fore  I  came  to  the  Colonies;  and  until  lately  has 
been  absent." 

"You  have  never  seen  him,  major;    and,  cousin 
though  he  is,  you  of  course  care  nothing  about  him ; 
in  fine,  would  just  as  lief  he'd  staid  away  altogether. 
Not  so  ?" 
3 


50  THE   QUAKER   SOLDIER. 


"  Exactly." 

"Major,  you  must  have  the  whole  of  that  for 
tune." 

"  How  will  I  get  it  ?" 

"I'll  sell  you  his  half  for  five  thousand  pounds." 

"  You !    How  will  you  do  that  ?" 

"  No  matter.     Is  it  worth  five  thousand  pound  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Jack  ?" 

"  Yes  or  no.     Is  it  worth  five  thousand  pounds  ?" 

"  If  I  am  to  answer :  yes." 

"  It  is  a  bargain,  major.  You  are  to  give  me  five 
thousand  pounds  for  the  other  half  of  your  uncle's 
fortune.  Let  me  fill  up  our  glasses  on  the  bargain." 

While  the  captain  was  proceeding  to  carry  this 
proposition  into  effect,  after  a  light  tap  at  the  door  of 
the  apartment,  the  host  of  the  Coffee-house  entered, 
followed  by  our  young  Quaker,  whom  he  introduced." 

"  Charles  Hazlewood  !  Major  Walter  Eobinson  !" 

"  My  cousin  Charles !"  exclaimed  Walter  Eobinson, 
springing  up  with  the  utmost  warmth,  and  extending 
his  hand.  The  young  Quaker  stood  an  instant  irreso 
lute,  then  coldly  suffered  bis  hand  to  be  taken ;  but 
his  face  was  partly  turned  away,  and  his  whole  manner 
impersonated  aversion. 

"  My  father  has  sent  to  invite  thee,  Walter  Robin 
son,  to  take  up  thy  lodgings  at  his  house.  He  says 
his  sister's  son  will  always  find  an  apartment  ready 
under  his  roof." 

"  He  might  have  sent  a  more  pleasant  messenger," 
muttered  Captain  Preston  to  himself. 

"What  does  thee  say?"  said  Charles  Hazlewood, 
who  partly  overheard  the  remark,  low  as  it  was 


MAJOR  ROBINSON  AT  THE  OLD  COFFEE-HOUSE.      51 

spoken,  and  turned  round  to  the  captain ;  dropping,  at 
the  same  time,  the  hand  of  his  cousin. 

The  captain  was  a  little  confused,  for  he  had  not 
meant  to  be  overheard,  but  rallied  immediately  ;  and, 
rising  from  his  chair,  answered  : 

"  I  will  repeat  the  remark,  since  you  wish  it.  Your 
father  might  have  sent  a  more  pleasant  messenger. 
Are  you  satisfied  now  ?" 

"  I  am  satisfied  that  thou  art  a  rude  and  unmannerly 
person  ;  but  my  business  is  not  with  thee,"  answered 
the  Quaker,  turning  again  to  his  cousin. 

"  But  my  business  is  with  you,  now  !  How  dare 
you  call  a  gentleman  rude  and  unmannerly?"  As 
the  captain  spoke,  which  he  did  in  an  excited  tone,  he 
laid  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  young  Quaker,  as  if 
to  turn  him  round  face  to  face. 

"  And  how  durst  thou  touch  my  person  ?  It  is 
assault  and  battery,"  said  the  Quaker,  jerking  his  arm 
quickly  from  under  the  hand  of  the  other,  and  turning 
full  front  toward  him.  The  men  stood  looking  into 
each  other's  faces.  Captain  Preston  was  a  much 
taller  man,  and  stoutly  built ;  but  the  Quakers  are  a 
fearless  race ;  and  Charles  Hazlewood's  eye  met  the 
other's  with  a  calmness  which  could  not  be  mistaken. 
The  gaze  of  a  minute  or  less  satisfied  the  officer ;  and 
in  a  much  lower  tone  he  spoke  : 

"  Mr.  Hazlewood,  you  forget  that  we  officers  ar« 
obliged  to  resent  such  terms  as  you  applied  t< 
me." 

"  And  that  we  Quakers  are  not  responsible  person 
in  a  military  sense,"  interposed  Charles  Hazlewoou 
"  That's  true.  I  was  wrong.  We  Quakers  shoul 


62  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIEK. 

not  apply  terms  which  the  usages  of  society  oblige 
officers  to  resent.  I  beg  thy  pardon." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  your  apology.  I  should  have 
been  sorry  to  crop  the  ears  of  a  respectable  young 
man  nearly  related  to  my  commanding-officer,"  said 
the  captain,  encouraged  by  the  Quaker's  apology. 

"I  tell  thee,  neighbor,"  said  Charles  Hazlewood, 
nettled  by  this  last  remark,  "  it  is  thy  turn  now.  Thou 
owest  me  an  apology  for  interfering  in  the  way  thou 
did  with  me  in  the  first  instance." 

"  You  expect  an  apology  from  me  ?  What,  if  I 
don't  make  it  ?" 

"  I  shall  think  thee  not  a  gentleman  .  a  gentleman 
always  makes  an  apology  when  it  is  due." 

"  Do  you  say  I  am  not  a  gentleman  ?''  exclaimed 
the  captain. 

"  If  thou  refuse  me  an  apology,  I  might  say  it." 

"  I  do  refuse.     I  will  not  make  an  apology." 

"  Then  I  say  :  thou  art  not  a  gentleman." 

The  captain  turned  hastily  to  a  table  where  his 
sword  was  lying ;  drew  it  from  the  scabbard,  and 
strode  back  toward  the  Quaker,  exclaiming : 

"  I  must  punish  the  insult :  I  will  crop  his  ears. 
Do  not  interfere,  major  !" 

The  Quaker,  apparently  not  at  all  alarmed  by  the 
rage  of  the  officer,  stood  composedly  watching  his 
movements ;  adding,  however,  as  sauce  to  what  he  had 
said  before : 

"  Now  must  I  call  thee  coward  also ;  thou  hast 
drawn  on  an  unarmed  man." 

Captain  Preston  approached  with  a  grand  flourish 
of  his  weapon,  as  if  he  meant  to  frighten  rather  than 
to  hurt, — and  possibly  such  was  his  real  purpose ;  but 


MAJOR   ROBINSON    AT  THE   OLD   COFFEE-HOUSE.      53 

his  downward  cut  seemed  directed  at  the  ear  or  the 
head.  The  Quaker  sprung  lightly  back ;  dashed  his 
broad  beaver  over  the  point  of  the  sword  ;  and  at  the 
instant,  while  the  weapon  was  entangled  in  the  hat, 
dealt  a  heavy  left-hander  on  the  pit  of  his  opponent's 
stomach.  The  officer  fell  heavily  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTEE    III. 

JACK  PRESTON   AND  THE   YOUNG    QUAKER. 

DURING  the  colloquy  between  the  Quaker  and  the 
tall  Captain,  Walter  Eobinson  had  been  weighing  the 
invitation  to  his  uncle's  house.  It  was  an  important 
matter,  and  must  be  settled  at  once.  During  his  former 
residence  there,  he  had  gained  the  good  opinion  of 
everybody.  By  dint  of  the  utmost  self-restraint,  by 
concealing  the  greater  part  of  himself,  he  had  showed 
a  character  not  altogether  out  of  place  in  a  pious,  well- 
ordered  household.  His  deficiencies  were  salved  over 
in  the  view  of  his  uncle  by  his  punctual  attendance  at 
meeting  on  "first  days,"  and  his  decorous  behavior 
there.  At  the  worst,  the  good  paterfamilias  thought 
of  him  as  gay  and  worldly,  but  right  at  bottom ;  and 
likely  to  settle  down  some  time  into  a  staid  business 
man.  This  was  the  character  Walter  Eobinson  was 
aiming  at;  and  insinuating,  plausible,  adroit  at  deception, 
he  acquired  it  fully.  The  real  facts: — his  having  spent 
his  ample  fortune  in  England,  to  which  he  had  been 
taken  young  by  his  father — a  royal  officer  married  in 
the  colonies  to  a  beautiful  Quaker  girl — his  after  pro 
fligacy,  his  life  as  gambler,  pimp,  bully  for  women  of 
the  town,  his  having  fled  the  mother-country  under  sus 
picion  of  murder,  all  were  entirely  unknown.  As  was 
also  the  fact,  that  his  present  commission  in  the  army 
was  the  reward  of  disreputable  services,  formerly  ren- 
(54) 


JACK  PRESTON  AND  THE   YOUNG   QUAKER.         55 

dered  to  an  influential  owner  of  half-a-dozen  English 
members  of  Parliament.  In  their  ignorance  of  what 
he  had  been,  "Walter  Eobinson  not  only  passed  muster 
among  his  colonial  relatives,  but  was  looked  on  with 
sympathy  and  interest;  having  come  to  Philadelphia, 
he  said,  as  a  penitent,  disgusted  with  the  vices  and  follies 
of  London,  and  sorry  for  his  own  share  in  them. 

Most  especially  did  he  gain  the  sympathy  of  his 
beautiful  cousin,  with  whom  he  held  long  talks  on  his 
misfortune  in  kaving  been  exposed  so  young  to  the 
temptations  of  the  world,  and  having  been  carried 
away  by  them — on  the  superior  pleasure  he  felt  in  his 
present  virtuous  life — on  his  hope  to  become  some  day 
as  good  a  man  as  her  revered  father.  Add,  that  he  was 
two  years  in  the  house  with  her ;  paid  her  those  little 
attentions,  which  she  was  unused  to  from  others,  be 
cause  the  young  men  of  her  society  were  not  accus 
tomed  to  render  them  to  any;  read  books  with  her, 
walked  with  her,  rode  with  her;  shared  in  her  sym 
pathies,  or  affected  to  share.  Add,  that  her  young 
heart  was  free,  and  the  result  may  be  imagined.  That 
pure  girl  loved  Walter  Kobinson — not  the  real  Walter 
Eobinson,  the  debauched  profligate;  but  the  interest 
ing  phantom  of  virtuous  penitence  he  had  adroitly 
substituted.  On  his  part  there  was  love  also,  so  to  be 
called  we  suppose ;  that  kind  of  love  which  the  satyrs 
felt  for  the  maidens  of  early  Greece.  Walter  Eobinson 
and  his  cousin  were  not  exactly  engaged  lovers,  but 
there  was  a  tacit  understanding ;  and  her  parents  had 
held  many  anxious  family  councils  on  the  subject, 
with  the  ultimate  decision  that,  at  the  proper  time,  if 
Walter  should  become  a  steady  business  man,  no 
obstacle  would  be  opposed  to  the  course  of  events.  Of 


66  THE  QUAKER   SOLDIER. 

all  this,  however,  Charles  Hazlewood — through  his 
absence — was  ignorant. 

Such  had  been  Walter  Eobinson's  position  when  he 
left  his  uncle's  roof  to  enter  the  Koyal  service.  Should 
he  accept  the  invitation,  and  return  to  reside  there 
again?  He  was  strongly  tempted;  and  yet,  would  he 
not  lose — would  he  not  run  great  risk  of  showing  more 
than  he  wished?  The  visits  of  his  comrades,  of  the 
officers  of  his  corps — some  accident,  might  develop  too 
much  of  his  real  character.  That  invitation  was  tempt 
ing,  but  it  must  be  declined.  So  he  at  length  resolved 
after  deliberating,  unusually  long  for  him,  during  the 
scene  between  his  cousin  and  Captain  Preston.  He 
was  roused  by  the  violent  demonstrations  of  the  captain, 
and  proceeded, — rather  deliberately,  a  friend  of  Charles 
Hazlewood  would  have  thought, — to  get  his  sword, 
with  the  view  of  striking  up  the  drawn  weapon,  exclaim 
ing  at  the  same  time : 

"  Hold,  Jack  Preston !     Hold !  don't  strike !" 

However,  before  he  was  near  enough  to  interpose, 
the  blow  was  aimed  and  foiled  in  the  manner  we  have 
related. 

When  Captain  Preston  fell  under  the  powerful  blow 
of  the  man  of  peace,  the  latter  stood  an  instant,  still 
looking  the  fierce  determination  with  which  he  had 
acted;  then  his  visage  relaxed,  and  turning  to  the  other 
officer  he  very  composedly  spoke. 

"  Thou  art  my  witness,  Walter  Eobinson,  that  I  struck 
in  self-defense,  if  the  matter  come  before  meeting?" 

Walter  Eobinson  stood  perfectly  amazed;  looking 
from  the  apparently  lifeless  body  to  the  rigid  figure  of 
his  cousin,  almost  equally  quiet  and  calm  after  such 
.astonishing  energy — looking  from  one  to  the  other  for 


JACK  PRESTON  AND  THE  YOUNG  QUAKER.   57 

some  minutes,  before  he  found  presence  of  mind  to 
speak. 

"Is  lie  killed?" 

"A  man  defending  his  life,  does  not  measure  the  exact 
force  of  his  blow.  He  may  possibly  be  killed.  Any 
how,  his  blood  is  on  his  own  head." 

"And  you,  cousin  Charles,  where  did  you  learn  to 
strike  such  a  blow?" 

"We  Friends  are  not  strikers;  but  sometimes  the 
flesh  gets  the  better,  and  we  hold  people  very  hard: — 
even  strike  occasionally." 

"  Cousin  Charles,  the  flesh  never  taught  you  that  kind 
of  blow;  there  was  regular  science;  a  scientific  hit  of  the 
hardest  kind.  I  know  it  too  well  to  be  mistaken." 

"  We'll  not  discuss  that  point,  Walter  Robinson.  I 
will  leave  thee  with  thy  friend,  to  recover  him.  Let 
me  examine."  As  he  spoke  he  felt  the  wrist  of  the 
captain:  "Not  dead;  a  feeble  pulse  tho'.  Unloose  his 
neckcloth  and  garments,  and  let  him  lie  quiet.  But 
the  invitation:  does  thee  accept  my  father's  invitation?" 

"Give  my  uncle  my  best  regards  and  tell  him,  if  you 
please,  that  I  feel  much  obliged  to  him ;  but  my  mili 
tary  duties  are  such,  it  will  disturb  his  house  too  much 
for  me  to  make  it  my  quarters." 

"I  thank  thee,  Walter  Robinson,  for  thy  answer," 
said  the  young  Quaker,  his  face  showing  pleasure  for 
the  first  time  during  the  interview.  "Thou  hast 
answered  well ;  thou  are  not  a  fit  inmate  of  our  quiet 
house." 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  exclaimed  the  officer, 
his  face  flushed  with  anger. 

"I mean,"  said  the  Quaker,  and  paused  an  instant, — 
long  enough  to  see  the  folly  of  expressing  an  opinion 


58  THE  QUAKER   SOLDIER. 

on  his  cousin's  general  character, — "  I  mean,  that  a  sol 
dier  is  not  a  fit  inmate  of  a  Quaker  family." 

"  Ha !  that's  it !    That's  nothing  personal,  any  how." 

"I  will  take  thy  answer  to  my  father,"  said  the 
Quaker,  and  without  any  words  of  leave-taking,  stiffly 
left  the  room. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  this  low  beast,"  said,  or 
thought,  Walter  Robinson,  touching  the  prostrate  body 
with  his  foot.  "I  almost  wish  my  Quaker  cousin  had 
struck  a  little  harder,  hard  enough  to  cheat  the  hang 
man  out  of 'a  subject.  Still,  beast  though  he  is,  the 
fellow  is  useful  to  do  jobs  which  a  gentleman  can  not 
be  concerned  in.  The  fellow  is  useful ;  particularly 
useful.  There's  nothing  he  would  not  do,  if  I  pay  him 
for  it ;  he  hasn't  a  scruple  about  him.  He  will  certainly 
kill  Charles  Hazlewood  if  I  don't  interfere.  Must  I 
interfere  ?  My  cousin  is  no  friend  of  mine ;  I  see  it  by 
his  whole  manner;  he  is  rather  my  enemy.  Am  I 
bound  to  interfere  to  save  the  life  of  an  enemy,  from 
the  revenge  of  a  friend  who  has  j  ust  ground  of  resent 
ment,  who  has  been  severely  maltreated  and  naturally 
wishes  to  revenge  himself?  It's  perfectly  clear  I  am 
not  bound  to  interfere.  If  Captain  Preston  kill  the 
man  who  knocked  him  down,  it  is  no  affair  of  mine. 
I'll  not  meddle." 

"Jack  Preston,"  continued  he,  after  a  moment's  in 
terval,  stirring  the  body  with  his  foot,  "are  you  dead, 
or  a  living  man?"  The  prostrate  officer  drew  a  deep 
breath  like  a  sigh,  but  showed  no  other  signs  of  life. 
"  I  wonder,"  resumed  Walter  Eobinson,  speaking  to 
himself,  or  musing,  "where  my  Quaker  cousin  learned 
to  use  his  hands  so  scientifically,  and  his  wonderful 
quickness  of  eye  and  body,  only  to  be  got  by  school- 


JACK  PRESTON   AND  THE   YOUNG  QUAKER.        59 

ing  and  practice?  He  must  have  been — staid  as 
he  looks,  sowing  wild  oats  somewhat  like  myself. 
It  cannot  be  otherwise.  Ten  to  one,  but  watching  him 
close,  I'll  find  his  morals  about  as  good  as  my  own." 

"But  hey,  Jack!  Jack  Preston!  get  up!  Do  not  let 
the  Quaker's  blow  kill  you!"  While  speaking,  he 
shook  the  body  roughly. 

Captain  Preston  breathed  hardly  several  times,  and 
opened  his  eyes.  "  What  has  happened,  Major  Kobin- 
son?"  spoke  he  at  length,  faintly. 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  You  got  yourself  knocked 
down  by  my  Quaker  cousin — by  a  Quaker,  Jack!" 

The  captain  raised  himself  feebly  on  his  elbows,  and 
gradually  was  able  to  sit  upright,  and  to  look  around 
him  in  a  bewildered  way.  All  at  once  his  recollection 
came  to  him,  and  he  broke  out  into  a  most  horrible 
volley  of  oaths,  which  we  do  not  record;  though  we 
would  have  the  countenance  of  some  of  our  clerical 
friends,  who  never  detail  an  anecdote  spiced  with  oaths, 
without  mixing  in  the  seasoning.  It  was  swearing, 
however,  we  assure  you!  such  swearing  as  a  Southern 
blackleg  on  a  race-course,  or  a  Northern  "  ancient  mari 
ner,"  would  envy.  Volley  after  volley ;  sometimes  in  the 
same  words,  sometimes  with  variations  and  grace  notes ; 
volley  came  after  volley,  until  the  major,  himself  an 
adept  in  the  art,  but  having  enough  now  even  of  a 
good  thing,  interrupted  him. 

"Jack,"  he  said  with  a  laugh,  "you've  sworn  the 
hair  off  my  head.  If  swearing  and  cursing  would  give 
you  your  revenge  on  the  Quaker,  you'd  have  had  satis 
faction  long  ago ;  but  you'd  better  depend  on  something 
else.  Now,  however,  let  me  help  you  up.  But  take  a 
glass  of  wine,  first." 


f)0  THE   QUAKER    SOLDIER. 

"  Cogniac,  if  you  please,  major." 

The  medicine  was  administered  accordingly,  and  tne 
patient  being  wonderfully  revived  by  the  potent  stimu 
lant  was  soon  able,  with  the  help  of  the  major,  to  sit  on 
a  chair. 

Captain  Preston  was  scarcely  well  seated,  when  the 
landlord  entered,  followed  by  a  roughly  clad  person. 
Major  Eobinson  turned  round  rather  angrily  to  the 
intruders,  and  inquired  what  was  wanted. 

"I  was  directed  to  be  here  about  this  time,  to 
meet  Major  Eobinson — yourself,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"Mark  Bartlel"  said  Major  Eobinson;  and  turning 
his  eyes  fully  on  the  individual,  scrutinized  him  care 
fully  from  his  face  downward. 

He  was  not  a  very  elevated  specimen  of  Adam's  pos 
terity.  The  man  himself,  about  five  feet  seven  high 
and  rather  spare;  was  dressed  in  a  walnut-dyed  linsey- 
woolsey  coat,  half  worn  and  shrunk  much  too  small 
for  him;  trousers  of  the  same  linsey-woolsey,  also  short, 
showing  a  goodly  length  of  his  blue  yarn  stockings,  and 
the  full  of  his  cowhide  shoes;  an  old  blue  vest,  held 
together  by  a  single  button,  and  displaying  his  open 
tow  shirt,  and  not  a  little  of  his  tawny  skin ;  a  broad 
beaver,  of  all  shapes,  which  evidently  had  seen  bet 
ter  days,  either  as  the  Sunday  hat  of  its  present  wearer 
or  more  probably  in  the  service  of  some  more  wealthy 
person.  But  the  face.  Major  Eobinson  dwelt  on  it 
some  time  without  making  up  his  mind.  It  was  a 
difficult  face;  not  handsome  certainly — on  that  point 
there  was  no  doubt — but  the  trustworthiness  was  very 
questionable.  You  have  seen  such  an  expression  of 
faces  on  reformed  rogues,  who  are  tolerably  honest  at 


JACK  PRESTON  AND  THE  YOUNG  QUAKER.    61 

present,  but  have  not  lost  the  lines  of  their  old  habits. 
Major  Robinson  shook  his  head  doubtingly,  and 
renewed  his  scrutiny. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  me  ?  No  beauty,  sure !  I 
don't  pretend  to  that;  but  I  guess  you'll  find  me  a 
rough  cocoa-nut,  all  good  inside,"  said  Mark  Bartle  at 
length,  growing  restless  under  this  long-continued 
inspection,  and,  while  he  spoke,  looking  up  with  a 
peculiar  kind  of  half-smile. 

"You  are  well  recommended,  Mark,  by  good  friends 
of  his  Majesty,  and  I  hardly  think  you  can  be  other 
wise  than  true.  You  know  the  penalty  of  playing  us 
false?"  said  Major  Robinson,  still  fixing  his  eyes  on 
the  linsey-woolsey  worthy. 

"A  short  rope  and  a  ready  tree,  I  s'pose.  But  why 
do  you  s'pect  me,  major?" 

"Who  told  you  that  I  do  suspect  you?" 

"It  don't  take  a  witch  to  see  that." 

"Answer  me  a  few  questions,  fairly,  and  I  shall  give 
you  my  word  that  I  do  not  suspect  you.  Were  you 
born  in  this  colony?" 

"Yes,  sir;  in  Chester  county." 

"What  relatives  have  you  ?" 

"Brothers,  and  sisters,  and  cousins,  and — " 

"  That's  enough ;  are  they  Whigs  or  Tories  ?" 

"You'd  hardly  b'lieve  it,  sir,  but  rough  as  I  look, 
my  relatives  are  mostly  Quakers.  My  father  was  read 
out  of  meetin'  for — for — "  he  raised  his  hand  to  his 
lips  as  if  drinking,  "and  went  down,  and  we  are  still 
where  he  left  us." 

"Do  you  drink,  Mark?" 

"My  father  took  enough  for  us  all.  I  drink  nothing 
gtronger  n'or  milk  or  cider." 


62  THE   QUAKER    SOLDIER. 

"You  are  a  colonist;  why  do  you  engage  against 
your  countrymen?" 

"I've  hearn  tell,  major,  that  you  were  born  in 
the  colonies  too,"  answered  Mark,  looking  the  major 
full  in  the  face,  for  the  first  time  since  the  colloquy 
began. 

"A  home-cut !"  interposed  Captain  Preston. 

"True,  Mark,"  resumed  Major  Eobinson,  "but  I  am 
in  his  Majesty's  service  altogether.  I  do  not  live  among 
the  rebels  as  you  do ;  I  am  not  in  constant  danger  of 
their  vengeance." 

"No  danger  at  all,  I  guess.  I  start  from  home  with 
my  marketing  in  my  wallet — no  harm  in  that,  major! 
nobody  knows  whether  I'm  going  to  the  Royal  camp 
or  to  the  camp  of  the  rebels,  oddrot  'em !  Well,  I  git 
into  the  right  place  and  I  ask  for  Major  Robinson,  or 
for  General  Howe.  I  want,  you  know,  to  sell  'em  some 
of  my  butter." 

"But  General  Howe  don't  buy  butter,  nor  Major 
Robinson  either,"  interposed  the  major,  laughing. 

"  How  do  we  country  folks  know  that  1"  said  Mark, 
making  his  expression  still  more  bumpkinish  than 
usual.  "I  guess  I'll  git  to  see  General  Howe,  or  Major 
Robinson,  in  some  way,  and  nobody  '11  be  the  wiser 
whether  they  buy  my  butter  or  not.  And  my  purse 
will  jingle  quite  as  well." 

"No  doubt  of  the  latter  point.  Now,  Mark,  we  may 
come  to  an  understanding.  As  the  commander  of  a 
partizan  corps,  I  am  expected  to  furnish  intelligence 
to  Head-quarters.  You  have  been  recommended  to  me 
as  a  person  well  qualified  for  my  purposes.  I  wish  to 
engage  you  in  my  service, — my  service,  remember, — 
not  General  Howe's,  and  I  will  be  your  paymaster.  I 


JACK   PRESTON   AND  THE   YOUNG   QUAKER.        63 

will  give  you  five  guineas  a  week,  and  extra  for  any 
important  intelligence.  Here's  earnest."  As  the  major 
spoke,  lie  told  out  five  guineas. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five, — five  golden  guineas !" 
exclaimed  Mark,  counting  them  carefully,  one  by  one. 
"  I  never  had  so  many  in  my  life !" 

"Are  you  satisfied,  Mark,"  resumed  the  major; 
"satisfied  to  engage  in  my  service?" 

"Ask  a  cow  if  she's  satisfied  in  a  clover-patch ! 
Only  tell  me  exactly  what  I  am  to  do." 

"  I  want  you  to  find  out  where  the  rebel  army  is, 
and  how  much  of  it  is  left;  not  much,  I  suppose?" 

"So  the  tories  here  say,"  said  Mark  with  an  expres 
sion  which  looked  like  incredulity,  and  being  observed 
by  Major  Robinson,  led  him  to  ask, ' 

"  But  what  do  you  say." 

"  That's  'cording  as  you  wish ;  real  fact,  or  fact  to 
flatter  your  own  notions,  as  most  persons  prefer?" 

"  Real  fact,  certainly." 

"  Then  I  must  tell  you,  major,  that  the  rebels  are 
not  near  as  much  down  as  people  here  think.  They'll 
fight  you  agin  some  day,  before  you  know  it." 

"Nonsense,  Mark,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it!" 

"There  now,"  said  Mark,  "the  fact  don't  flatter  your 
own  notions,  major,  and  you'll  not  believe  it ;  next  time 
I'll  know  better  what  you  want." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,  because  I  do  not  think  you  are 
well  informed  at  present.  However,  you  will  visit 
their  camp — wherever  it  is — and  bring  me  accurate 
intelligence.  I  also  wish  you,"  resumed  Major  Rob 
inson,  after  a  moment's  deliberation,  "to  watch  the 
movements  of  any  noted  rebels  who  may  be  travers- 


64  THE   QUAKER    SOLDIER. 

ing  parts  of  the  country  where  I  can  pounce  on 
them." 

"Also,"  interposed  Captain  Preston,  who  had  been 
rather  patiently  listening,  and  thought  it  time  to 
thrust  in  his  oar,  "also,  major,  don't  forget  the  interests 
of  the  corps.  If  the  man  find  out  any  rich  rebels — in 
town  or  country — worth  levying  contributions  on,  he 
must  let  us  know." 

"Yes,  Mark;  this  suggestion  of  Captain  Preston's 
may  be  taken  as  if  it  came  from  me — the  captain  is  my 
second  in  command.  Now,  Mark,  do  you  remember 
all  I  have  mentioned  ?  I  shall  rely  on  your  earning 
your  wages,  and  on  your  being  true.  If  you  are 
not — "  Major  Robinson  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"  Five  golden  guineas !"  said  Mark  Bartle,  chinking 
the  coin  in  his  hand;  "you  pay  well,  major;  you  en 
courage  one  to  work  for  you." 

"It  will  be  better  still  when  some  service  is  ren 
dered.  I  gave  ten  guineas  yesterday  for  information 
which  enables  me  to  catch  some  rebels  who  have 
remained  in  town  to-night.  But,  Mark,  I've  busi 
ness;  I'll  not  detain  you  longer.  Take  a  glass  of 
wine  and  go,  and  let  me  be  able  to  give  you  ten  guineas 
soon." 

"  No  wine,  major,  no  wine,  but  a  glass  of  cider  if 
you  have  it." 

When  cider  had  been  procured  and  duly  disposed 
of,  the  linsey-woolsey  colonist  departed. 

It  was  now  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  and  Major 
Robinson  felt  some  anxiety  about  his  arrangements 
failing,  through  the  disablement  of  his  officer.  But  at 
the  first  hint  of  this,  Captain  Preston  got  up,  walked 
about  the  room ;  tried  his  breast  by  drawing  a  huge 


JACK  PRESTON   AND  THE  YOUNG  QUAKER.        65 

breath  and  forcing  it  out  again,  took  a  glass  of  Maderia, 
\vith  a  vigorous  smack  of  the  lips ;  and  pronounced 
himself  perfectly  well. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  his  commandant,  and  proceeded  to 
explain  in  detail  the  measures  he  wished  taken. 


It   .*< 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A   QUAKER  PARTY   IN   1777. 

IT  is  not  our  purpose  to  describe  an  evening  party 
as  it  appeared  "  a  lifetime  ago."  We  leave  sucli  remi 
niscences  to  our  worthy  friend,  "  the  Annalist  of  Phi 
ladelphia,"  or  his  successor,  the  present  annalist,  if 
successor  has  yet  arisen.  On  this  occasion,  how 
ever,  we  shall  ask  you  to  follow  our  narrative  to  a 
party — the  party  referred  to  some  pages  back. 

It  was  not  late  in  the  evening — as  lateness  is  counted 
now-a-days — but  every  body  had  come,  and  the  party 
was  in  the  full  tide  of  success.  The  company  was 
mixed ;  not  mixed  as  the  word  is  understood  in  some 
quarters ;  but  mixed  of  sober  Friends  and  gay  people 
of  the  world — what  was  then  called  a  "  gay  Quaker" 
party ;  the  most  agreeable  kind  of  party  you  could 
have  been  invited  to,  or  can  yet,  for  it  has  not  entirely 
vanished.  No  dancing — that  physical  substitute  for 
intellectual  occupation — that  confession  of  inability  to 
"make  up"  a  company  adepts,  in  the  "  art  of  society," 
able  to  amuse  and  be  amused ;  but  flirting  plenty, 
talking  plenty,  and  refreshments  plenty.  Do  not 
for  a  moment  suppose  such  a  party  prim,  or  formal, 
or  silent.  The  most  lively  and  gabblesome  evenings 
we  have  ever  spent,  have  been  at  "  gay"  Quaker  par 
ties.  True,  we  have  often  found  a  row  of  demoiselles 
and  dames  ranged  formally  along  a  favorite  wall,  and 
(66) 


A  QUAKER  PARTY  IN  1777.          67 

looking  as  prim  as  their  well-starched  cambric  'ker 
chiefs  and  lead-colored  silks,  but  not  a  whit  infecting 
the  rest  of  the  company. 

To  just  such  a  party  our  narrative  will  conduct 
you  on  the  evening  of  September  twenty-fifth,  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  seventy-seven.  Sad- 
colored  Quakers  were  mixed  miscellaneously  with 
fashionably-dressed  people,  and  were  talking  miscel 
laneously.  Flirting,  too,  was  going  on,  of  course. 
That  respectable  old  gentleman,  your  grandfather, 
whom  you  remember  in  silver  knee-buckles  and 
drab  shorts,  and  whom  you  followed  to  the  corner 
of  Fourth  and  Arch,  some  twenty  years  ago,  was  mak 
ing  "  sweet  eyes"  on  your  venerable  grandmother, 
whom  you  never  saw,  but  have  often  heard  of,  though 
he  had  not  yet  been  introduced  to  her.  Many  a  young 
heart  which  fluttered  as  warmly  then  as  yours  ever 
does  now,  has  long  since  ceased  to  beat ;  or,  if  it  still 
beats  on  earth,  it  is  with  the  measured  pulse  of  aged 
worldliness.  With  all  this,  however,  we  have  nothing 
to  do  at  present.  Our  narrative  is  interested  only  in 
three  or  four  persons ;  and  we  mean  to  confine  ourself, 
except  when  we  forget  our  intention,  to  their  sayings 
and  doings. 

Imagine  yourself  at  a  very  large  house;  not  so 

large  nor  so  magnificently  furnished  as  Mr. 's, 

but  larger  and  more  stately  than  most  other  people's 
of  the  present  day ;  for,  with  all  our  increased  pride 
and  greater  wealth,  we  do  not  build  as  gentlemanly 
houses  as  our  fathers. 

It  was  set  back  from  the  street,  as  all  good  houses 
should  be ;  as  we  hope  you  will  build  yours,  when 
ever  you  can  afford  it,  entre  cour  etjardin,  according  to 


68  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

the  old  French  rule,  being  the  true  test  that  a  man's 
taste  is  as  patrician  as  his  fortune.  "When  you  entered 
the  broad  hall,  and  ascended  the  broad  staircase,  with 
its  massive  balusters,  to  your  dressing-room,  you  felt 
that  you  were  in  a  gentleman's  house,  even  before 
you  came  down  into  the  large  wainscoted  parlors. 

Imagine  yourself,  or  imagine  our  narrative — we 
don't  care  which — in  the  large  parlors  of  that  old- 
fashioned  wainscoted  house ;  but  you  need  not  trouble 
yourself  about  the  company — numerous  and  select  as 
it  was — except  the  friends  you  have  been  already  in 
troduced  to. 

Major  Robinson  entered  in  full-dress  uniform ;  and, 
gorgeous  with  scarlet  and  gold  lace,  the  only  military 
man  present — and  a  very  fine  looking  person,  as  we 
have  already  said — he  was  naturally  a  marked  figure. 
Many  a  snowy  bosom  beat  flutteringly  under  the  white 
'kerchief  as  the  dashing  officer  approached ;  for  the 
fair  Quaker  maidens,  vowed  devotees  of  peace  though 
they  are,  were  like  the  rest  of  the  sex,  nothing  averse 
to  smile  on  the  sons  of  Mars  ;  but,  with  a  gentle  bow 
as  he  passed,  he  made  his  way  to  the  mistress  of  the 
evening,  paid  his  respects  to  her,  and  immediately 
Bought  his  cousin  Ellen. 

Beautiful  and  rich,  Ellen  Hazlewood  was  of  course 
surrounded  by  beaux,  making  the  agreeable  according 
to  the  right-angled  gallantry  of  the  "plain  people." 
But  she  appeared  absent-minded.  In  fact,  she  was  ex 
pecting  Walter  Robinson.  She  knew  of  his  having 
reached  the  town,  and  she  felt  that  he  ought  to  have 
come  immediately  to  her.  He  had  not  done  so ;  and 
he  would  meet  her  here,  in  public,  the  first  time  for 
near  two  years  :  for,  since  he  joined  the  Royal  army, 


A  QUAKER  PARTY  IN  1777.          69 

be  had  not  been  able  to  visit  Philadelphia:  the  first 
time,  too,  since  he  had  donned  the  garb  of  war,  so 
irreconcileable  with  the  principles  of  her  sect.  How 
should  she  receive  him  ?  As  a  cousin,  certainly,  was 
her  conclusion.  Still  she  was  anxious,  and  scarcely 
answered  those  that  addressed  her.  When  he  actually 
entered — she  was  watching,  and  saw  him  from  the 
first — she  could  scarcely  realize  that  it  was  her  cousin- 
lover,  so  different  was  his  appearance.  It  was  he, 
nevertheless,  as  she  felt  when  he  came  nearer  to  her. 
Her  heart  beat  violently ;  her  color  came  and  went ; 
and  she  fell  to  talking  rapidly  with  a  young  person, 
whom  a  moment  before  she  had  entirely  disregarded. 

Walter  Robinson  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  a  man 
of  society :  self-possessed ;  always  at  ease ;  always 
ready  with  a  compliment  or  a  repartee ;  an  adept  at 
hiding  his  sentiments,  or  feigning  the  exactly  opposite ; 
and  graceful  withal.  As  he  approached  Ellen,  there 
was  nothing  different  in  his  manner,  from  what  it 
would  have  been  toward  any  other  woman.  But 
she  talked  the  more  eagerly,  even  turned  her  head 
partly  away,  and  did  not  appear  to  notice  him,  even 
when  he  came  directly  before  her  and  paused. 

"  Your  Cousin  Walter !"  said  some  one  to  her. 

"  Where  1"  exclaimed  she,  and  looked  everywhere 
but  in  the  right  direction. 

"  Cousin  Ellen  1"  said  Walter  Robinson,  holding  out 
his  hand  to  her. 

"Cousin  Walter!  It  is  long  since  we  have  seeu 
thee,"  said  she,  in  a  low  tone,  as  she  turned  toward 
him  and  gave  her  hand. 

There  was  nothing  which  a  looker-on  could  have 
construed  beyond  a  very  cold  meeting  of  relatives. 


70  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

Yet  Walter  Eobinson  was  satisfied.  The  hand  he  held 
in  his  gently  returned  his  pressure,  and  even  clung 
fast  a  moment  when  he  disengaged  his  clasp  :  the  un 
gloved  hand,  we  might  add — white  kids,  though 
generally  worn  in  those  days,  not  being  so  all-essen 
tial  at  parties  that  a  lady  must  cover  her  hands  as 
watchfully  as  a  Persian  demoiselle  vails  her  face ;  and 
it  happened  that  neither  Ellen  nor  her  cousin,  at  that 
precise  moment,  had  gloves  on  their  right  hands. 

"  Thee  has  not  seen  my  father,  Cousin  Walter,"  said 
Ellen,  rising,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I  will  take 
thee  to  him.  He'll  be  glad  to  see  thee.  And  my  new 
brother — new  to  thee,  I  mean,  for  he  was  absent  when 
thee  was  here  before — he,  too,  will  be  glad  to  see 
thee." 

Walter  Eobinson  offered  his  arm ;  and,  laying  her 
hand  lightly  on  it,  she  proceeded  to  her  father. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  Walter,"  said  the  old  Quaker, 
whom  they  found  comfortably  seated  on  a  couch,  the 
predecessor,  "  a  lifetime  ago,"  of  our  modern  sofa,  and 
more  modern  lounge.  He  was  sitting  between  his 
wife,  Eebecca,  and  another  comely  Quaker  dame,  dis 
cussing,  very  agreeably  to  them,  we  hope,  some  staid 
and  sober  topic ;  but,  when  his  nephew  approached, 
he  rose  and  shook  him  heartily  by  the  hand. 

"  Always  welcome,  Walter,"  continued  he  ;  "  though 
I'd  rather  see  thee  in  any  garb  than  this.  Why  thee 
is  as  gay  as  a  peacock !  What  does  thee  think  of 
him,  Eebecca  ?" 

"  Fine  feathers  make  fine  birds,"  said  Eebecca  Hazle- 
wood. 

"  Yes,  but  aunt,"  interposed  Walter,  "  fine  feathers 


A  QUAKER  PAKTY  IN  1777.          71 

do  not  make  the  pheasant  any  the  worse  bird.  I  hope 
you  will  find  me  no  worse  than  I  used  to  be." 

"  Take  a  seat,  Walter,  with  us,  and  tell  us  something 
of  thyself,"  resumed  Caleb  Hazlewood. 

Ellen  sat  down  beside  her  mother  ;  Walter  Kobin- 
son  brought  a  chair  in  front  of  the  couch,  and  sat 
down. 

"  I  cannot  help  looking  at  thee,  Walter,"  continued 
the  old  Quaker,'"  thou  art  so  much  like  thy  father, 
only  a  little  taller ;  and  a  handsomer  man,  I  would 
say,  if  it  would  not  make  thee  vain.  I  hope  thee  may 
be  like  him  in  every  respect.  He  was  truly  an  upright 
man ;  one  who  would  keep  a  bargain  to  his  own  hurt. 
I  hope  thee  may  be  like  him,  Walter." 

"  I  will  try,  uncle." 

"  Thee  treadest  in  his  steps  in  one  respect ;  thee 
hast  become  a  soldier." 

"  And  I  will  imitate  him  in  another.  I  will  retire 
from  the  army,  as  he  did,  as  soon  as  the  occasion 
allows." 

"  Thee  will,  Walter,  will  thee  ?  It  grieved  me 
much  when  thee  became  a  soldier  ;  but  thee  followed 
thy  convictions,  and  I  could  not  gainsay  thee.  Thee 
put  on  the  uniform  in  a  good  cause ;  and  it  was  right, 
since  thee  feels  free  to  bear  arms." 

"  I  thought  it  right,  uncle,  to  assist  in  putting  down 
this  rebellion,  and  I  still  think  it  right ;  but,  as  soon 
as  it  is  over — very  soon  it  will  be — I  shall  resign,  and 
never  more  bear  arms." 

"  Oh,  Walter  1"  interposed  Eebecca  Hazlewood,  "  I 
hope  thee  is  not  obliged  to  take  life,  is  thee  ?" 

"  An  officer,  Aunt  Hazlewood,  is  not  obliged  to  kill 
anybody,"  replied  Walter,  adroitly  framing  an  answer 


72  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIEB. 

which  was  true,  and  yet  a  lie,  in  order  not  to  shock 
her  prejudices. 

"  I  think  it  my  duty,"  continued  he,  "  to  moderate 
the  horrors  of  war  as  much  as  possible.  Still,  aunt, 
it  is  a  terrible  business  !  I  wish  I  was  honorably  out 
of  it.  However,  the  rebellion  must  be  put  down  by 
somebody ;  and  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  honorably  re 
fuse  to  do  my  part.  You  wish  the  rebellion  put 
down,  do  you  not,  aunt?" 

"  I  hardly  know  what  I  want,  Walter,"  replied  Ee- 
becca  Hazlewood.  "Friends  are  subject  to  Govern 
ment  for  conscience'  sake ;  and  yet  it  seems  wrong  to 
kill  our  countrymen — misguided  though  they  are — 
and  to  burn  their  houses.  It  does  seem  wrong  ;  does 
it  not  ?" 

"  I  almost  think  so  myself,  aunt ;  and  yet,  how  can 
it  be  helped  ?  Fortunately,  it  is  almost  over  now ;  the 
rebellion  is  the  same  as  repressed.  I  begin  to  feel  as 
if  I  were  already  on  a  quiet  farm  in  the  country." 

"  A  pretty  farmer  thee  will  make,  such  a  gay  but 
terfly  as  thee  1"  interposed  the  old  Quaker. 

"  Do  not  laugh  me  out  of  my  good  resolutions, 
uncle,"  said  Walter.  "I've  picked  out  my  farm — 
next  to  thy  country  place.  There  is  a  fine  old  stone 
house,  in  a  grove  of  walnut  trees  ;  a  beautiful  spring 
bubbles  up  on  one  side ;  a  sweet  brook,  lined  with  blue 
.lilies,  runs  a  few  yards  in  front ;  behind  is  a  copse  of 
wood,  and  the  fields  stretch  off  as  far  as  you  can  see, 
dotted  with  trees  and  groves.  You  know  the  place, 
uncle  ?" 

"  My  Brookfield  farm,  certainly 

"I  have  been  there  often  with  Ellen,  and  always 
admired  the  place.  Do  you  recollect  Cousin  Ellen  ?" 


A  QUAKER  PARTY  IN  1777.          73 

The  maiden  blushed  as  she  answered  affirmatively. 

"  Well,  there  I  mean  to  live,  as  soon  as  the  rebellion 
is  over,  if  you  will  sell  me  the  farm,  or  give  me  it. 
Which  will  you  do  uncle  ?" 

"That  depends  on  circumstances,"  answered  Caleb 
Hazlewood. 

"  Do  you  not  think  such  a  quiet,  peaceful  life,  favor 
able  to  virtue,  aunt  ?  Do  you  not  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  carry  out  some  of  my  good  intentions  ?" 

But  enough  of  this  colloquy  for  our  purpose,  which 
is  to  convince  you  that  Walter  Robinson  is  certainly 
a  very  excellent  young  man.  You  expect  to  find 
him  hereafter  joining  Meeting  "  on  convincement,"  and 
changing  his  scarlet  into  drab.  Do  you  not  ?  A 
very  edifying  incident  in  our  narrative,  when  it  takes 
place, — but  wait. 

Some  half  hour  afterward,  Walter  Robinson  was 
standing  by  the  side  of  Ellen  Hazlewood  in  earnest 
conversation.  His  voice  was  so  low,  that  amid  the 
buzz  and  clatter  of  the  party — the  most  convenient 
place  in  the  world  for  special  talk — none  heard  it  but 
she  for  whom  the  words  were  meant.  And  she  lis 
tened;  her  eyes  cast  down,  and  half  vailed  by  the 
long  silken  lashes,  with  occasionally  a  quiet,  timid 
glance  around. 

"  Now,  Ellen,"  resumed  he,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I 
feel  there  is  but  one  place  in  the  world  for  me.  It  is 
where  you  are,  and  nowhere  else.  To  be  near  you 
always — always — would  be  such  perfect  happiness  !  I 
would  ask  for  nothing  else — nothing  else  on  earth — 
nothing  else  in  heaven." 

"  Oh !  Walter,"  half  whispered  she ;  "  thee  is  wrong 
to  speak  so  ;  thee  should  not  speak  so  irreverently." 


74  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIEB. 

"  I  was  carried  away  by  my  feelings — my  love  for 
you,  dearest  Ellen,  and  I  forgot." 

"  I  wish  thee  could  feel  on  this  point  exactly  as  I 
do ;  then — then — my  happiness  would  be  as  much — as 
much,  perhaps,  as  is  allowed  us  on  this  earth." 

"  Ellen,  you  are  an  angel,  and  I  am  only  a  man  ;  a 
poor,  weak,  penitent  man.  But  I  know  that  I  am — I 
am  growing  better  and  better  every  day.  I  have  been 
growing  better  ever  since  I  have  associated  with  you. 
Your  influence,  Ellen,  reformed  me  at  first,  and  it  will 
make  me,  continually,  until  I  shall  be — not  like  you — 
but  not  altogether  unworthy  of  you.  When  I  am 
away  from  you,  Ellen — when  I  am  away  from  you, 
is  the  danger." 

"  Hast  thee  kept  the  pocket  Bible  I  gave  thee,  Wal 
ter?" 

"  Certainly  I  have." 

"  Does  thee  read  a  chapter  every  morning,  as  thee 
promised  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly  I  do." 

"  Does  thee" — as  she  spoke  she  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  looked  earnestly  into  his  face — "  does  thee 
pray  for  instruction  to  understand  what  thee  reads, 
and  aid  to  do  conformably  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.     Of  course — of  course." 

He  answered  without  hesitation,  or  the  slightest 
change  of  countenance. 

"  Oh,  Walter,  then  thee  is  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven !  Thee  has  knocked  at  the  door,  and  assuredly 
it  will  be  opened  to  thee,  for  He  has  said  it.  Dear, 
dear  Walter,  how  happy  thee  makes  me !  It  matters 
not  now,  that  thee  wears  a  scarlet  coat,  and  follows 
the  cruel  business  of  war.  Thee  is  in  the  right  way, 


A.  QUAKER  PARTY  IN  1777.  75 

and  certainly  will  be  taught  from  above  what  is  right. 
How  it  will  rejoice  my  father  to  learn  all  this,  and 
my  mother." 

"Does  your  brother  Charles  ever  read  the  Bible?" 
interrupted  "Walter  Kobinson. 

"I  asked  him  myself  soon  after  he  returned,  and 
he  told  me  that  was  a  question  which  ought  to  be  left 
to  his  own  conscience." 

"  Skillfully  answered.  But  do  you  know,  Ellen, 
where  your  brother  was  during  his  long  absence?" 

"  Nobody  does.  He  mixes  but  little  with  the  family, 
and  hardly  seems  one  of  us." 

"  Tells  nobody  where  he  was,  nor  what  he  was 
doing  !  That  doesn't  look  well ;  doesn't  look  as  if  he 
had  been  well  employed." 

"  He  is  very  kind  and  affectionate." 

"  Of  course  your  affections  toward  him  are  not  par 
ticularly  strong,  having  seen  so  little  of  him  these 
many  years?" 

"He  is  my  brother,  Walter!"  said  she,  quickly, 
looking  up  in  his  face. 

"  Your  step-brother  only." 

"  I  have  never  known  the  difference.  He  was  my 
dear, — dear  brother,  before  he  went  away." 

"  If  you  were  told  that  he  spent  his  years  of  absence 
as  a  gay  man  of  the  world  in  the  dissipation  of  Eu 
rope,  what  would  you  think  ?" 

"  I  would  not  believe  it.  But  thee  has  not  heard 
it,  has  thee?" 

"  I  cannot  say  altogether  that  I  have.  But  I  heard 
of  a  very  wild  dissipated  young  colonist  named  Ha- 
zlewood  being  in  Paris.  Whether  it  is  my  cousin  or 
not,  I  do  not  know.  But  why  doesn't  he  tell  where 


76  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

he  actually  was  ?  Is  there  any  other  family  of  Hazle- 
woods  in  the  Colonies  but  yours?" 

"  My  father's  cousin  is  in  the  rebel  service ;  but  I 
do  not  know  of  any  young  men  of  the  name  who 
have  been  home  to  England,  or  away  from  Philadel 
phia,  except  my  brother  Charles.  It  was  not  he,  I  am 
sure." 

"  It  was  not  he,  certainly ;  and  yet  what  other 
Hazlewood  was  in  Europe  ?  Why  does  not  he  tell 
what  he  was  doing,  if  he  was  reputably  employed  ?" 

"  Oh,  Walter,  thy  doubts  distress  me  very — very 
much!  How  can  it  be  possible  that  my  brother 
Charles  could  be  a  profligate  person  ?  Thee  cannot 
think  so,  can  thee  ?" 

"  Now,  Ellen,  I  must  read  you  a  lesson  out  of  your 
own  book.  The  heart  of  man  is  deceitful  above  all 
things,  and  desperately  wicked,  says  the  Bible  ;  and  it 
is  so.  Charles  may  have  been  carried  away  by  the 
allurements  of  Europe,  in  spite  of  his  virtuous  habits 
in  your  father's  house,  and  he  may  now  be  here  a  re 
formed  rake.  I  do  not  say  it  is  so,  Ellen  ;  but  it  may 
be — it  may  be,  and  you  none  the  wiser." 

"  No,  no ;  Charles  could  not  have  been  that,  and 
appear  among  us  as  he  is." 

"  He  may  even  be  a  rake  not  reformed,  masking 
himself  for  some  purposes." 

At  this  moment  the  subject  of  their  conversation 
approached,  with  Catherine  Selwyn  on  his  arm. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

CHARLES  HAZLEWOOD  AT  THE  QUAKER  PARTY. 

AT  an  earlier  period  of  the  evening,  Charles  Hazle- 
wood  had  been — as  many  a  good  man  has  been — alone 
in  the  crowded  company.  At  best  he  was  not  a  "man 
of  society."  He  could  not  walk  gracefully  across  a 
carpet,  nor  fly  to  pick  up  a  lady's  handkerchief,  nor 
achieve  any  one  of  the  important  trifles  which  make  a 
man  the  lion  of  "  society."  Neither  could  he  talk — 
about  nothing.  His  conversational  coin  was  not  the 
currency  of  the  ball-room,  where  electrotyped  farthings 
pass  better  than  guineas.  "Worst  of  all,  he  felt  him 
self  out  of  place;  and  that  very  consciousness  added 
greatly  to  his  unfitness.  It  is  very  annoying,  cer 
tainly — life  has  few  worse  minor  annoyances — to  a  man 
of  thought  and  action  than  to  come  as  a  novice  amid 
the  graceful  frivolities  of  society,  and  to  find  himself, 
there  of  less  mark  than  those  he  so  much  overtops  in 
the  broader  field  of  the  world.  Charles  Hazlewood 
wished  himself  anywhere  else. 

The  young  man,  however,  did  the  best  he  could. 
He  became  an  active  looker-on.  He  walked  about 
among  people,  and  he  looked  amused,  and  he  listened 
— wherever  he  could  without  impropriety.  One  con 
versation  between  his  father  and  another  old  friend, 
with  occasional  interpolations  from  others  of  a  little 
knot  around  them,  interested  him  very  much. 

(77) 


78  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

"I  fear,  friend  Jones,"  said  Caleb  Hazlewood,  look 
ing  all  over  very  grave,  except  a  little  twinkle  in  his 
eyes,  "  that  thee  does  not  rejoice  as  thee  should  at  the 
success  of  Government  in  suppressing  the  rebellion; 
does  thee,  now?" 

"What  does  thee  mean,  friend  Caleb,"  answered 
the  other,  a  tall,  slender,  sharp-featured  Quaker ;  "  what 
does  thee  mean  ?" 

"Thee  is  very  slow  at  understanding.  I  mean, 
Jonathan  Jones,  that  thee  has  cause  not  to  rejoice 
altogether  at  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion:  thee  has 
cause,  I  say.'1 

"  Thee  is  too  deep  for  me,  Caleb ;  thee  is  too  deep 
for  me." 

"Does  thee  forget,  Jonathan,  that  thee  will  have  to 
account  for  certain  moneys?  eh!  Thee  had  money 
in  thy  hands  as  treasurer  of  the  colony;  what  did 
thee  do  with  it,  Jonathan  ?" 

"  Thee  knows  perfectly  well,  that  I  paid  it  over  to 
the  Congress." 

"  Thee  did,  did  thee !  But  does  thee  think  Govern 
ment  will  recognize  that  payment ;  does  thee  think  so, 
Jonathan  ?" 

"Any  how,  I  have  the  bond-security  of  Charles 
Thomson  and  Robert  Morris,  and  others  ;  all  good  for 
the  money :  the  bond-securities  are  good." 

"Does  thee  think  so?  Ha!  ha!"  It  was  a  quiet,  almost 
silent  laugh:  a  kind  which  the  Quakers  enjoy  heartily. 

"  Charles  Thomson,  or  Robert  Morris,  either  is  good 
for  the  whole." 

"  Was — thee  means,  Jonathan :  was,  before  the  rebel 
lion!" 

"  What  does  thee  mean,  Caleb  ?" 


CHARLES  HAZLEWOOD  AT  THE  QUAKER  PARTY.     79 

"  Why  Jonathan,  does  thee  not  see,  that  all  thy 
bond-securities,  being  notorious  rebels,  are  not  worth  a 
farthing  now ;  their  property  will  be  confiscated  of 
course — " 

"  Does  thee  think  so  ?"  answered  the  colonial  trea 
surer,  taken  aback  by  a  view  which  had  never  occurred 
before. 

"  Such  is  the  law.  And  in  the  rebellion  of  '45  bet 
ter  estates  than  Charles  Thomson's  were  forfeited. 
But  thee  can  plead  the  force  put  upon  thee." 

"I  will  not  do  that,  Caleb;  I  will  lose  the  money 
first.  But  Government  will  not  surely  be  so  harsh  as 
to  confiscate  all  Charles  Thomson's  property ;  surely 
not.  He  is  a  very  upright  man,  and  engaged  conscien 
tiously  on  the  side  of  the  colonies. 

"  The  very  man  that  Government  will  be  likely  to 
punish  to  make  an  example  of.  One  such  man — a 
man  of  his  property  and  character — misleads  thou 
sands." 

"  Well,  Caleb,  any  how — I  can  repay  the  money — 
and  I  believe  it — was — spent — in  a  good  cause," 
answered  the  ex-treasurer,  slowly  but  resolutely. 

"  Hush  1"  said  Caleb  Hazlewood,  looking  around  to 
see  who  overheard  the  remark ;  for  tho'  willing  to 
have  a  joke,  he  did  not  wish  his  friend  to  compromise 
himself. 

Charles  Hazlewood  heard  no  more  of  the  conver 
sation,  for  at  this  instant  a  hand  was  laid  gently  on  his 
arm,  and  a  voice  spoke  gently  to  him.  He  started  and 
turned  round  ;  it  was  Catherine  Selwyn  on  the  arm  of 
her  father. 

"  Mr.  Hazlewood — Charles,  I  mean — you  have  not 
spoken  to  me,  this  evening !" 


80  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

"Haven't  I!"  he  answered,  in  his  confusion,  scarcely 
knowing  what  he  said.  He  had  been  trying  all  the 
evening  to  rally  courage  to  speak  to  her,  but  had  not 
yet  succeeded.  Charles  Hazlewood  did  not  know  how 
to  be  in  love ;  a  very  common  case — with  people  of 
deep  feelings.  Be  assured,  fair  lady,  that  the  lover 
who  approaches  you  unhesitatingly — compliments  you 
glibly,  and  is  as  unembarrassed  with  you  as  with  other 
women — loves  you  "wisely,"  but  not  "too  well."  He 
will  marry  you — if  you  let  him,  and  your  fortune,  or 
beauty, — and  justify  his  wisdom,  but  six  months  after 
marriage  he  will — let  you  pick  up  your  own  handker 
chief:  that  is,  unless  you  too  have  loved  "  wisely,"  and 
have  had  your  fortune  tied  up  by  a  strict  settlement. 
You  like  "attention,"  I  am  aware;  and  yet  you  may 
set  down  particularly  much  attention  in  public  to  the 
score  of  particularly  little  love. 

We  do  not  know  exactly  what  Catherine  Selwyn 
thought  of  the  young  Quaker's  embarrassment,  but  we 
more  than  half  believe  that  she  suspected  the  real 
cause.  She  answered,  looking  with  a  smile  into  his 
face:  "No,  you  have  not;  and  I  certainly  have  reason 
to  be  offended.  However,  I  must  forgive  you  for  old 
acquaintance'  sake.  So  give  me  your  arm,  and  escort 
me  about  the  room.  Good-by,  pa."  As  she  took  the 
arm  of  the  young  man,  she  parted  from  her  father 
with  what  we  may  call  "  a  make-believe"  courtesy — 
if  you  know  what  that  is. 

Her  gloved  hand  rested  on  his  arm — the  first  time. 
Do  you  recollect  your  sensation,  my  good  friend,  the 
first  time  such  an  event  happened  in  your  own  case. 
If  you  do,  I  need  not  describe  the  young  man's  feel 
ings  ;  if  you  do  not,  you  would  not  understand  me ; 


CHARLES  HAZLEWOOD  AT  THE   QUAKER  PARTY.     81 

and  so  in  either  case  I  need  not  say  how  much  he  was 
thrilled  through  by  that  light  touch  of  the  small 
gloved  hand. 

"Charles,"  she  resumed  as  soon  as  they  were  walk 
ing — promenading  we  ought  to  say — "I  may  call  you 
Charles — may  I  not?  It  does  seem  natural  to  call  you 
as  I  used,  when  we  were  children  together!  Do  you 
remember  that  we  were  children  together?  I  do, 
any  how.  But  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  it;  or 
why  do  you  not  call  to  see  us  oftener?  Pa  says  he 
thinks  you  must  have  forgotten  your  old  friends. 
Have  you  really,  Charles?  But  you  do  not  answer 
me  I"  She  paused  an  instant — for  the  first  time ;  but 
he  did  not  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity  to  speak, 
and  she  resumed.  "How  we  read  together!  How 
many  books!  There  was  Dante  and  Ariosto  and 
Tasso — do  you  remember  what  a  rebellious  scholar  I 
was?  How  I  used  to  dispute  your  translation;  yet 
I  knew  all  the  time  you  were  right !  only  I  liked  to 
teaze  you!  Have  you  forgiven  rne  yet,  Charles?" 
"While  Catherine  Selwyn  rattled  on  thus,  she  occa 
sionally  was  looking  innocently  into  the  face  of  her — 
victim,  we  almost  said — but  that  would  be  unjust — 
or  ungentlemanly ;  and  occasionally  she  gave  him  one 
of  those  glances  which  the  French  elegantly  name  ks 
yeux  douces,  and  for  which  the  Anglo-Saxon  is  rather 
too  homely  for  our  pen.  We  admit,  however,  that  our 
heroine — for  the  heroine  of  our  narrative,  we  think 
she  is  entitled  to  be — did  resort  to  manifestations, 
which  savored  somewhat  of  coquetry.  Poor  Charles 
Hazelwood !  The  old  reminiscences  her  talk  called  up 
— those  looks — he  felt  through  and  through.  It  was 
a  great  shame ;  that  is,  supposing  her  not  in  earnest ; 
5 


82  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

but  women — women  of  the  world — you  do  such  things, 
and  always  have,  and  always  will.  Catherine  Selwyn's 
excuse  would  have  been,  that  she  liked  to  flirt — and 
chose  to  flirt — but  she  knew  it  was  wrong.  With 
Major  Eobinson,  and  such  like  men,  there  would  be 
very  little  harm  done,  if  any;  but  toward  Charles 
Hazlewood — a  real  lover  of  the  deepest  dye — it  was 
worse  than  wrong.  He  had  loved  that  lady  from 
childhood,  with  feelings  strengthened  by  absence — 
and  there  is  no  wonder  that  he  took  "  trifles  light  as 
air"  for  "  confirmations,"  and  felt  that  he  was  loved  in 
return.  So  convinced  was  he,  that  he  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  "tell  his  love,"  if — he  could  have  sum 
moned  couraged.  But  what  were  the  lady's  real  feel 
ings? 

Catherine  Selwyn  was  not  old — only  twenty — not 
old  in  years,  but  very  old  in  the  world.  She  was  said 
to  have  rejected  more  men  than  any  other  lady  in  the 
colonies;  so  many,  in  fact,  that  her  character  was  ever 
so  little  damaged ;  it  being  reported  that  she  drew  on 
admirers  with  the  sole  object  of  obtaining  declarations 
in  order  to  reject.  One  thing  was  certain,  she  had 
had  every  body  at  her  feet,  and  was  still  not  engaged. 
Many  thought  there  was  some  old  attachment  in  the 
way.  Whether  it  was  so,  and  whether  her  early  play 
mate,  Charles  Hazlewood,  was  the  object — is  a  point 
which  we  postpone — until  he  himself  asks  her. 

However  the  truth  might  be — whether  she  will  say 
"Yes,"  when  he  is  able  to  "put  it  on  the  touch,  that  wins 
or  looses  all" — he  was  now  in  the  blissful  realization  of 
— the  grand  dream  of  his  life:  he  thought  himself 
loved.  It  had  been  his  first,  his  only  passion.  He 
had  loved  her  from  infancy.  Six  years  of  absence — 


CHARLES  HAZLEWOOD  AT  THE   QUAKER  PARTY.     83 

of  activity,  of  excitement,  of  danger — had  not  changed 
him  the  slightest.  It  was  one  of  those  passions, 
the  blessing  or  the  curse  of  human  nature — which 
govern,  for  good  or  ill,  a  man's  whole  life.  Some  of 
us  fall  in  love — as  we  call  it;  are  disappointed;  console 
ourselves  with  a  second  or,  a  still  subsequent  passion ; 
and  finally  marry  very  happily.  But  there  are  pas 
sions  which  can  never  be  repeated ;  there  are  men  who 
can  love  but  once.  Such  was  the  case  with  Charles 
Hazlewood.  No  marvel  then,  that  in  the  realization 
of  his  love  being  returned — as  he  thought — he  was 
(how  shall  I  express  it?)  in  a  trance  of  bliss.  He  did 
not  speak;  and  well  for  him;  for,  if  he  had,  ten  to  one 
but  he  would  have  said  something  very  silly. 

He  was  soon  awakened,  however,  very  rudely,  as 
he  thought.  Walter  Eobinson  came  up,  and  in  the 
blandest  manner,  said : 

"  Your  father  is  inquiring  for  you,  Miss  Selwyn ; 
shall  I  take  you  to  him?" 

There  was  nothing  in  the  matter  to  be  quarreled 
with ;  yet  the  young  Quaker  was  bitterly  provoked  at 
what  he  felt  to  be  an  interference,  whether  it  was 
meant  so  or  not,  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  belligerently 
on  the  officer  with  a  most  unquaker-like  look.  The 
young  men  stood  an  instant,  face  to  face.  As  a  rival, 
that  gay  man  of  the  world,  splendidly  dressed  and 
graceful  and  polished,  was  a  formidable  contrast  to 
the  plain  Quaker. 

It  would  be  grace  against  strength;  the  gentleman 
against  the  man ;  flattering  tongue  against  true  heart ; 
ten  to  one  on  the  tongue,  when  the  arena  is  society 
and  the  judges  are — ladies.  Charles  Hazlewood,  how 
ever,  gazed  steadily  and  sternly  until  the  officer  drop- 


84  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIEE. 

ped  his  eyes,  and  turned  away — with  Catherine  Sel- 
wyn  on  his  arm. 

"  What  does  my  father  want  with  me  ?"  said  she  to 
her  new  escort,  commencing  the  conversation  as  soon 
as  they  were  alone. 

"Your  father!  did  I  say  your  father?  So  I  did! 
Ha,  ha !  All's  fair  in  love ;  I  meant  myself.  I  want  to 
promenade  with  you."  As  Walter  Robinson  spoke, 
he  gave  her  a  look — a  look — we  suppose  it  may  be 
called  of  admiration. 

"Mr.  Robinson,  none  of  this!"  she  said  seriously. 

"  Mr.  Robinson — Mr. — Mr. — I  do  not  know  him.  My 
name  is  Walter ;  call  me  Walter,  and  tell  me  what  you 
are  objecting  to !" 

"  To  your  manners !" 

"  To  my  manners !  They  are  generally  thought 
pretty  good." 

"  To  your  levity,  then.  I  want  a  little  rational  seri 
ousness." 

"  Serious !  I  will  be  serious.  I  will  ask  you  a  serious 
question.  Do  you  love  me  as  well  as  I  love  you?" 

"Provoking  plague!"  exclaimed  she,  laughing,  and 
dropping  his  arm — "  I'll  not  promenade  with  you." 

"  No  scene,  I  beg,  Catherine ;  take  my  arm  again ; 
people  will  say  I've  just  been  rejecting  you." 

"Incorrigible!  I  suppose  I  must  take  you  in  your 
own  way." 

"  Take  me  any  day  of  the  year,  it  will  be  the  hap 
piest  day  of  my  life." 

"What  would  you  say,  if  I  were  to  believe  some  of 
your  gallant  speeches — the  last  one  for  instance — and 
answer:  I'll  take  you  now — to-day;  you'd  be  nicely 
caught." 


CHARLES  HAZLEWOOD  AT  THE  QUAKER  PARTY.      85 

"  I  would  go  down  on  my  knees  and  kiss  your  hand, 
and  call  myself  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

"  You  cannot  help  it,  I  suppose ;  but  it  is  certainly 
very  wrong.  You  cannot  speak  to  a  woman  without 
making  love  to  her.  What  will  Ellen  think  of  you?" 

"Ellen — "  said  he,  then  paused  in  a  moment's  em 
barrassment,  but  with  him  it  could  be  but  for  a  mo 
ment;  "I  will  now  speak  seriously.  Ellen  knows  that 
I  am  in  earnest  with  her — and  will  not  mind  a  little 
make-believe  toward  others." 

"  Man  of  the  world !  How  little  do  you  know  of 
the  pure  heart  of  a  young  girl.  How  unworthy  you 
are  of  possessing  it !  How  utterly  unable  you  are  to 
appreciate  it — to  count  even  the  treasure  which  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  is  yours." 

"Sorry!  sorry!  I  thought  you  were  at  least  my 
friend,"  said  he,  somewhat  piqued. 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry.  No  good  can  come  of  the  dissi 
pated  man  of  the  world  being  united  to  that  innocent 
girl.  Ellen's  happiness  must  be  shipwrecked ;  I  know 
it—" 

"And  I  know  I  shall  make  her  a  good  husband. 
'Reformed  rakes  make  the  best  husbands,'  is  the  old 
saying — and  it's  true.  We  have  sown  our  wild  oats 
before  marriage,  and  sink  afterward  into  quiet  domes 
tic  men." 

"But  are  you  reformed — entirely  reformed?  Your 
morals  may  be,  but  your  manners  are  not.  You  flirt 
with  every  body.  That  is  what  Ellen  cannot  under 
stand.  She  is  pure  and  true,  and  will  be  deeply 
wounded  by  your  making  professions  to  others.  You 
must  quit  flirting  altogether." 

"  My  conscience !"  (we  substitute  this  exclamation 


86  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

for  the  real  expression  used,  which  was  much  stronger) 
"you  are  very  severe  on  the  harmless  amusements  of 
society.  These  things  are  perfectly  understood  and 
deceive  nobody." 

"  Not  understood  by  Ellen — " 

Their  conversation  was  broken  up  at  this  point  by  a 
general  movement  as  of  the  company  retiring.  "  Now," 
said  she,  "I'll  dismiss  you  and  find  another  escort 
home;  go  look  for  Ellen." 

Charles  Hazlewood  was  standing  not  far  off,  for  his 
eyes  had  been  on  them  constantly  since  Walter  Robin 
son  had  joined  her. 

"  Charles,  the  company  is  breaking  up — where  is  my 
father?"  she  said.  The  young  Quaker  hesitated. 
This  was  the  moment  he  had  been  all  the  evening 
looking  forward  to — the  decisive  moment  of  the  even 
ing — of  his  life,  perhaps.  He  had  prepared  a  speech 
for  the  occasion ;  prepared  it  beforehand ;  and  repeated 
it  over  so  often  that  it  could  not  but  be  ready  at  hand, 
now  when  it  was  wanted.  It  was  too  short  to  be  for 
gotten: — "Catherine,  will  thee  allow  me  to  take  care 
of  thee  home  ?" — but — when  the  moment  came,  it  had 
slipped  away. 

You  laugh  at  him,  our  gay  young  friend.  You 
have  never  had  the  slightest  hesitation  about  offering 
your  services,  at  the  breakiug-up  of  an  evening,  to 
the  lady  you  are  in  love  with;  not  you.  But  you  are 
not — our  hero ;  and  not  likely  to  be  any  body's  hero 
— except  your  own. 

Charles  Hazlewood  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him, 
think  of  the  neat  little  speech  he  had  prepared  for  the 
occasion,  and  after  considerable  confusion  and  hesita 
tion,  he  found  himself  saying.  "I'll  find  him  for  thee, 


CHARLES  HAZLEWOOD  AT  THE  QUAKER  PARTY.  87 

Catherine."  On  which  mission  he  immediately  went ; 
feeling — strange  as  you  may  think  it — very  much 
relieved.  After  some  time  spent  in  the  search  of  her 
father,  he  returned  to  report  himself  unsuccessful. 
She  was  by  this  time  be-shawled,  and  ready  to  go,  but 
stood  waiting  for  an  escort.  The  young  Quaker  did 
not  actually  think  of  offering  his  services,  but  stood 
expressing  his  regrets  at  his  not  finding  her  father,  until 
she  was  obliged  to  ask  him  to  see  her  home. 

Of  course,  you  expect  an  account  of  the  explana 
tion,  which  he  was  so  anxious  to  make,  and  which 
took  place  on  the  way.  But  it  did  not  take  place. 
Beforehand,  he  would  have  given  a  finger  for  the 
opportunity;  but  now,  he  postponed — and  postponed 
— and  postponed  beginning,  until  he  found  himself 
raising  the  ponderous  knocker  at  her  door.  It  was 
too  late  for  a  formal  declaration,  now;  but  in  order 
not  to  loose  the  t6te-a-tete  altogether,  he  pressed  her 
hand  with  his  arm  as  she  withdrew  it:  which  he 
thought  at  the  time  wonderfully  bold.  He  could  not, 
however,  find  courage  to  walk  in,  though  she  invited 
him.  So  ended  the  bashful  cousin's  first  opportunity. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MAJOR    ROBINSON  A  PRISONER. 

WALTER  ROBINSON  was  a  lover  of  a  different  stamp. 
Without  the  slightest  hesitation  he  offered  his  services 
as  the  escort  of  Ellen  Hazlewood  from  the  evening 
party.  The  conversation  was  such  as  you  may 
imagine,  if  you  have  ever  escorted  a  young  lady — 
"  peculiarly  related  to  you" — from  a  party;  and  if  you 
have  not,  it  would  not  interest  you  at  all.  In  either 
case  we  may  omit  it. 

After  he  parted  from  Ellen,  the  young  officer  looked 
at  his  watch,  and  uttering  an  exclamation  which 
sounded  like  a  smothered  oath,  at  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  quickened  his  pace.  His  arrangements  for  cap 
turing  the  rebels  had  been  made,  but  he  wished  to 
ascertain  whether  his  men  were  at  their  places,  ready 
to  act  when  the  time  should  arrive.  He  was  walking 
rapidly  along,  the  light  very  imperfect,  (for  in 
those  days  the  city  fathers  trusted  to  the  moon  and 
stars  even  more  than  at  present,)  his  thoughts  vibrat 
ing  between  Ellen  Hazlewood  whom  he  had  just  left, 
and  the  rebels  whom  he  hoped  to  surprise  in  their 
lodgings,  when  he  jostled  against  some  men  coming  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Exclamations  not  very  polish 
ed  were  uttered  by  both  parties,  followed  by  one  of 
the  others  saying:  "An  officer!  I  see  his  uniform!  A 
(88)  ' 


MAJOR   ROBINSON  A  PRISONER.  89 

Royal  officer !"  while  at  least  two  pair  of  hands  roughly 
grasped  his  person. 

"What  does  this  mean!  Who  are  you?"  exclaimed 
the  Royal  officer,  indignantly,  and  attempting  to  shake 
himself  free. 

"No  you  don't!"  replied  one  of  the  others:  "you 
may  as  well  consider  yourself  as  a  prisoner,  and  be 
quiet." 

"A  prisoner?"  said  the  officer,  not  a  little  mystified. 
"A  prisoner;  how  can  that  be?  I  am  in  Philadelphia, 
I  think,  and  Philadelphia  is  in  the  possession  of  the 
Royal  army." 

"You  are  a  prisoner,  nevertheless;  and  the  sooner 
you  make  up  your  mind  to  walk  peaceably  with  us, 
the  better:  otherwise  we'll  have  to  be  harsh." 

"But  who  are  you?  Really  rebels,  here  in  Philadel 
phia?" 

"If  it  will  do  you  any  good  to  be  satisfied  on  that 
point,  I  can  assure  you  we  are  really  rebels,  here  in 
Philadelphia." 

"But  you  are  liable  to  be  taken,  any  minute,  by  his 
Majesty's  troops — and  hung." 

"Thank  you  for  the  information;  but  I  rather  think 
his  Majesty's  troops  are  liable  to  be  taken  by  us — one 
of  them  any  how — do  not  you  think  so?  Ha,  ha!" 
The  laugh  was  echoed  by  the  others. 

"Pooh!  my  good  fellows,  you  are  in  a  trap  without 
knowing  it.  I've  marched  my  corps  in  since  night 
fall.  If  I  whistle,  you  will  be  surrounded  in  an  instant. 
But  I'll  make  a  treaty;  if  you  do  not  attempt  to  make 
me  a  prisoner,  I'll  let  you  withdraw  from  the  city  in 
safety." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  call  a  gentleman  a  liar,"  said 


90  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

one  of  the  party  who  had  not  yet  spoken,  "  especially 
a  prisoner ;  but  what  you  have  just  said  is  certainly 
not  the  truth — to  put  it  on  the  mildest  footing.  "We 
know  that  no  Eoyal  troops  are  in  the  city,  except  a 
party  of  Eobinson's  Tories.  I  hope  you  do  not  belong 
to  that  infamous  corps  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  "Walter  Eobinson.  "  I  am 
a  major  of  the  guards ;  look  at  my  uniform." 

It  was  rather  dark,  and  the  rebel  little  initiated 
in  the  mysteries  of  various  uniforms;  so  he  was  obliged 
to  take  this  reference  on  trust. 

"  But  why  did  you  tell  us  you  had  marched  your 
corps  into  the  city?  We  know  the  regiment  of 
guards  are  still  at  Chestnut  Hill." 

"What  a  silly  question!  It  was  only  a  military 
ruse." 

"Perhaps  your  calling  yourself  an  officer  of  the 
guards,  may  also  be  what  you  call  a  military  ruse." 

"  I  never  resort  to  a  ruse  without  necessity  ;  and  I 
see  no  necessity  for  my  denying  being  one  of  Eobin 
son's  corps,  if  I  really  was." 

"  You  do  not !  I  see  a  wide  difference  between  a 
British  officer  doing  his  duty  to  his  government,  and 
a  Tory  fighting  against  his  own  countrymen.  At  all 
events,  we  make  a  difference.  If  you  were  one  of 
Eobinson's  corps,  I  think  it  very  likely  you  would 
meet  with  some  accident,  before  you  reached  our 
camp." 

"  How  so !    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean,  that  Tory  prisoners  are  unlucky  in  our 
hands :  a  pistol  goes  off  accidentally — or  something  else 
happens  to  them,  and  they  do  not  get  into  camp.  I 


MAJOR  ROBINSON  A  PRISONER.  91 

do  not  know  why  it  is,  but  Tories  are  unlucky  in  the 
hands  of  M'Lane's  light  troops." 

"M'Lane's  light  troops!"  repeated  the  Royal  officer, 
while  a  cold  chill  ran  through  him;  "you  are  some  of 
M'Lane's  men,  are  you?  one  of  the  best  corps  in  the 
service  of  the  Congress !  But  why  are  you  so  bitter 
against  Robinson's  rangers?" 

"Because  they  are  rascally  marauders,  who  rob, 
murder,  burn,  plunder  and  ravish — and  are  banditti 
rather  than  soldiers — and  particularly  because  they 
took  one  of  our  men — a  fine  young  fellow  as  ever  you 
saw — and  hung  him  up  on  a  high  tree,  about  a  week 
ago." 

"What!  hung  a  prisoner,  did  they?"  said  Major 
Robinson,  affecting  great  indignation.  "Give  me  tha 
circumstances — I  will  report  to  General  Howe,  and 
have  the  persons  who  did  it  court-marshaled." 

"We'll  not  trouble  you,  sir.  We  mean  to  court- 
marshal  them  ourselves.  Captain  M'Lane  has  sworn 
— and  when  Allan  M'Lane  swears  to  a  thing  you  may 
consider  it  as  already  done — has  sworn  to  hang  every 
man  of  the  corps  he  can  catch,  until  he  is  sure  of  hav 
ing  punished  the  right  ones." 

"  Has  he  hung  any  yet  ?" 

"When  your  troops  march  in  to-morrow,  they'll 
know  something.  We've  marked  some  of  'em,  and 
before  morning,  I  guess  you'll  hear  of  their  ornament 
ing  the  trees  along  the  route  of  the  Royal  troops  to 
morrow." 

"  Is  it  possible !"  exclaimed  the  officer,  thrown  off 
his  guard  by  this  unexpected  information,  but  imme 
diately  recovering  himself,  he  continued  in  a  quiet 
tone.  "Is  it  possible  that  you  would  have  the  audacity 


92  THE    QUAKER    SOLDIEB. 

to  do  what  you  say:  to  hang  up  his  Majesty's  loyal  sub 
jects  along  the  streets  which  our  victorious  troops 
will  be  entering!  General  Howe  would  hang  every 
man  of  you  in  retaliation.  I  hope  you'll  not  try  that 
game !" 

"Why  not?  Those  Tories  are  planning  to  catch 
M'Lane  himself — and  others  of  our  people — this  very 
night,  and  threaten  to  hang  him  on  the  spot.  "Why 
shouldn't  we  turn  the  tables,  and  hang  them — if  we 
catch  'em  ?  Why  shouldn't  we  ?" 

"How  do  you  know  there  is  any  plan  to  catch 
M'Lane  and  hang  him  ?"  said  the  Eoyal  officer,  per 
fectly  amazed  at  his  arrangements  being  known,  and 
resolved  to  fish  out  as  much  as  he  could  from  the 
rebel. 

"You'll  have  to  ask  Captain  M'Lane  himself,  as 
soon  as  you  get  a  chance — which  will  be  some  time  to 
morrow,  I  think.  At  least,  we  shall  take  you  to  his 
head-quarters,  over  the  Schuylkill;  where  we  shall  ex 
pect  him  to-morrow." 

At  this  point  of  the  colloquy,  the  party  had  reached  a 
spot  called  the  Potter's  Field.  It  was  a  large  plot  of  pub 
lic  ground,  a  deposit  of  rubbish,  and  affording  many 
eligible  wallowing  places  well  known  to  civic  unclean 
beasts,  and  properly  used  by  them :  this  one  corner 
was  set  apart  and  fenced  off  for  paupers'  graves.  The 
place  struck  Major  Eobinson  as  offering  a  good  oppor 
tunity  for  escape;  and  at  the  sudden  thought,  he 
sprung  from  the  midst  of  his  captors  right  into  the 
waste  ground. 

Before  the  rebels  recovered  from  their  surprise  at 
this  sudden  movement  of  their  prisoner,  he  was  several 
yards  away.  They  soon  sprung  after  him  however, 


MAJOR  ROBINSON  A  PRISONER.  93 

and  there  was  a  regular  run,  which  gave  the  officer  an 
idea,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  of  the  feel 
ings  of  the  interested  party  in  a  fox-chase.  It  was 
equally  a  run  for  life.  And  the  pursuers  animated 
the  fun  by  hot  exclamations  and  hasty  pistol-shots. 
The  Tory  officer  was  swift  of  foot,  and  found  himself 
distancing  his  pursuers.  Unfortunately  for  him,  in 
springing  over  a  heap  of  rubbish,  he  alighted  on  the 
miry  edge  of  a  puddle  and  slipped  and  fell.  To  floun 
der  out  took  time,  and  before  it  was  effected,  he  was 
again  a  prisoner. 

"lam  sorry  for  you," — said  one  of  the  captors,  who 
seemed  in  command — "but  there's  no  help  for  it:  a 
prisoner  who  attempts  to  escape  is  out  of  mercy  and 
liable  to  be  shot.  Shoot  him  through  the  head,  Wil 
liams,  and  make  sure  of  his  not  escaping." 

The  man  who  received  this  order,  raised  his  pistol, 
and  held  it  an  instant,  then  dropped  it  to  his  side, 
with  the  exclamation :  "  I  cannot ;  I  cannot  do  it,  sir ;  I 
cannot  shoot  a  man  in  cold  blood." 

"Pooh!  you  are  particularly  squeamish!  I  must  do 
it  myself,  then." 

Major  Eobinson  had  not  spoken  a  word  since  he 
was  recaptured.  Indeed,  it  was  some  time  before  he 
was  able  to  speak,  so  completely  was  he  subdued  by 
his  condition;  his  face  plastered  over  with  filth,  his 
ears  and  even  mouth  full,  his  nose  and  chin  and  hair 
dripping.  Nor  did  he  speak  now,  when  he  heard  the 
savage  intimation,  but  suddenly  throwing  his  arms 
around  one  of  the  men,  he  began  to  struggle  violently 
as  if  he  wished  to  throw  him  down,  though  his  real 
object  was  to  embarrass  the  aim  of  the  other  man. 
Accordingly  the  pistol  was  pointed  several  times  and 


94  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

withdrawn,  until  it  became  apparent  that,  as  the 
parties  were,  it  was  impossible  to  shoot  the  Eoyal 
officer  without  endangering  the  man  he  had  hold  of. 
"  Throw  him  loose  from  you !  throw  him  loose  !" 

Major  Robinson  felt  himself  thrown  violently  off; 
but  saw  his  danger  and  attempted  again  to  close. 
Before  he  could  effect  it,  his  eyes  were  dazzled  by  a 
stream  of  fire,  lighting  up  the  darkness  for  an 
instant,  and  he  felt  the  sharp  whirr  of  a  bullet.  But 
he  was  not  hit.  Firing  in  haste  and  betrayed  by  that 
treacherous  weapon,  the  pistol,  the  man  had  missed. 
"This  however,  at  all  events,  is  sure!"  exclaimed  the 
rebel,  and  struck  the  Tory  officer  on  the  head  with 
the  butt  of  his  weapon,  so  hard  that  the  wood  was 
shattered. 


CHAPTEE   VII. 

SOLOMON  ISAAKSKI  THE  PAWNBKOKER. 

THE  Royal  officer  was  not  the  only  one  of  that 
evening  company  who  "walked  o'  nights." 

About  the  time  of  the  catastrophe  just  mentioned, 
our  young  Quaker  was  also  in  the  street,  though  at 
some  distance  from  the  scene.  Rather  curiously  occu 
pied  however;  suspiciously  some  would  have  thought, 
who  were  not  aware  of  his  entire  respectability.  He 
was  standing  in  front  of  a  large  mansion ;  his  person 
pressed  close  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  as  if  seeking  con 
cealment,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  light  which 
wrinkled  faintly  through  the  curtains  of  an  upper 
window.  How  long  he  had  been  standing  thus,  mat 
ters  not ;  but  you  may  imagine  why,  when  we  tell  you 
that  it  was  the  residence  of  Catherine  Selwyn. 

Oh  the  bliss  of  making  a  fool  of  oneself  about  a 
woman !  It  certainly  was  any  thing  but  wise  to  stand 
there  by  the  hour  gazing  on  that  window;  yet  you 
have  done  the  same  thing,  we'll  wager  you  a  bet — at 
least  we  have,  and  felt  ourself  about  the  happiest  man 
in  the  Great  Republic.  Charles  Hazlewood  had  as 
much  right  as  either  of  us.  His  happiness  was  cut 
short,  by  the  light  behind  the  curtain  being  extin 
guished.  He  then  did  what  was,  if  possible,  still 
more  foolish.  He  sprung  up  the  door-steps,  and 
stooping,  kissed,  yes  kissed  the  threshold : — the  most 

(95) 


96  THE  QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

respectable  word  we  can  find  to  designate  the  lowly 
spot  where  his  lips  were  pressed.  If  it  had  been 
Catherine  herself  he  could  not  have  started  back  in 
greater  fright  at  his  own  boldness,  and  springing  at 
one  bound  to  the  pavement  he  hastened  rapidly  away. 
But  in  a  few  minutes  his  speed  slackened,  and  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  turned  around  and  began  to 
retrace  his  steps. 

"No — no — no!  I  will  not  go  there  again  to-night," 
he  murmured  to  himself,  and  again  halted.  "My 
friends  are  still  at  the  Jew's,  I  presume;  I'll  go 
there." 

His  pace  was  soon  rapid.  But  either  from  the 
habit  of  being  always  on  his  guard,  or  from  some  par 
ticular  cause,  he  cast  a  quick  but  scrutinizing  glance 
on  every  object  he  passed.  He  held  in  his  hand, 
too,  used  as  a  walking-cane,  a  rather  stout  hickory 
stick;  even  then  a  wood  of  reputation,  though  not  yet 
canonized  as  the  type  of  the  strong  but  elastic  Ameri 
can — as  the  oaken  staff  characterizes  the  more  unbend 
ing  Briton.  At  a  particular  spot  he  observed  a  man 
lurking  in  the  shadow  of  a  house,  and  instantly 
grasped  his  cane  at  quarter  length,  so  that  a  moment 
could  bring  it  to  a  guard,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed 
watchfully  to  detect  the  slightest  movement.  The 
man  did  not  move  and  the  Quaker  passed  quickly 
by. 

At  length  he  reached  a  spot  near  the  river  bank, 
and  paused  to  reconnoitre.  Lamps  were  then  even 
more  "sparse  and  inadequate"  than  at  present  in  Phila 
delphia,  but  there  was  one  which  threw  a  feeble  light 
on  the  door  of  a  house.  It  was  a  clingy-looking  edi 
fice,  a  story  and  a  half  high,  with  a  very  lofty, 


SOLOMON    ISAAKSKI  THE   PAWNBROKER.  97 

double-hipped  roof,  crowned  by  a  huge  dormer  win 
dow;  the  walls  checker-built  of  glazed  bricks;  the 
window  shutters  cross-barred  with  iron,  and  studded, 
as  the  door  was  also,  with  large-headed  nails.  Noth 
ing  was  ruinous,  though  old,  and  the  whole  bore  the 
air  of  decayed  gentility.  Not  a  gleam  of  light  shone 
from  the  inside;  and  it  might  well  be  supposed,  from 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  that  every  creature  within 
was  abed. 

The  young  Quaker  gazed  at  the  house  an  instant; 
looked  around  him;  saw  no  one,  and  then  knocked  at 
the  door  three  peculiar  knocks — as  if  some  concerted 
signal.  A  few  minutes  delay,  and  a  step  was  heard 
approaching  on  the  inside,  and  a  voice  spoke:  "Who 
is  dare?" 

"A  friend." 

"  Vat  for  friend  ?" 

"One  you  know." 

First  the  sound  of  bars  taken  down,  and  bolts  grat 
ing  in  their  catches ;  then  the  upper  half  of  the  door 
— which,  like  many  of  that  day,  was  douole — opened 
to  the  length  of  a  short  chain;  which  prevented  its 
going  further. 

"Now — who  is  you?" 

"  Charles  Hazlewood." 

"  Oh  yes." 

The  person  on  the  inside  was  in  total  darkness  and 
reconnoitered  an  instant  through  the  chained  door : 
"oh  yes — in  trut  mine  yurik  friend." 

More  fastening  was  unloosed  and  the  upper  half  of 
the  door  opened :  then  another  bar  and  divers  bolts 
were  withdrawn  and  the  under  half  of  the  door  fol 
lowed  :  and  Charles  Hazlewood  entered.  The  door 
6 


98  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

was  shut  after  him,  and  the  next  instant,  the  place 
was  lighted  up  from  a  dark  lantern,  which  was  sud 
denly  opened. 

The  place  where  Charles  Hazlewood  found  himself 
was  a  kind  of  vestibule,  or  short  entry; — a  square  hole 
closed  by  a  slide  in  one  side  of  the  wall  and  a  door  at 
the  further  end ; — apparently  the  entrance  of  a  pawn 
broker's  shop.  While  the  owner  was  returning  the 
bolts  and  bars  of  his  outer  doors.  Charles  gazed  on 
him  with  deep  interest;  not  so  much  on  account  of  his 
appearance  as  from  his  character.  Yet  his  appearance 
was  sufficiently  peculiar ;  a  large  oval  head  was  set  on 
a  very  large  oval  body ;  the  neck  so  short,  that  the 
short  oval  seemed  to  rise  immediately  out  of  the  larger ; 
the  legs  so  inconsiderable,  that  the  two  ovals  together 
made  a  man  under  five  feet;  while  the  arms  were  long 
and  muscular.  But  the  face  and  forehead  were  grand; 
full  of  intellect  and  benevolence,  with  a  slight  season 
ing  of  something  like  cunning,  though  not  enough  to 
impair  the  general  effect :  you  could  not  but  wonder 
what  those  features  were  doing  on  the  shoulders  of  a 
pawnbroker. 

Yet  Solomon  Isaakski  was  more  than  a  pawnbroker, 
and  it  was  of  this  Charles  Hazlewood  was  thinking. 
He  was  a  very  wealthy  Polish  Jew,  whom  sympathy 
with  the  revolted  Colonies,  struggling  for  the  rights  of 
man  against  the  gigantic  power  of  Britain,  had  drawn 
to  America.  In  support  of  the  cause,  no  son  of  the 
soil  was  more  zealous,  and  none  more  ready  to  sacrifice 
what  men  hold  most  precious;  few  were  more  meritori 
ous.  His  ease — no  slight  matter  with  him — his  money 
— still  more  precious — was  lavished  unsparingly.  Many 
a  time  when  Morris  and  Reed  and  Thomson  were  at 


SOLOMON    ISAAKSKI  THE   PAWNBROKER.  99 

fault,  the  Polish  Jew  stepped  forward  and  advanced 
the  funds  to  carry  on  the  war — to  move  the  army,  or 
equip  the  fleet;  and,  as  a  parenthesis,  we  may  add  that 
down  to  the  present  day  those  loans  are  said  to  be  not 
repaid.  For  his  services  he  was  honored — and  a  great 
honor  he  considered  it — with  the  esteem  and  friend 
ship  of  the  Commander-in-chief.  The  pawnbroker's 
shop  was  more  a  pretext  than  a  real  business;  though 
possibly  with  his  noble  qualities  he  mingled  some  of 
the  hereditary  habits  of  his  race.  Not  much  to 
his  gain  however.  For  the  business  was  left  in  the 
hands  of  a  poor  Jew,  who  under  the  name  of  clerk 
received  the  profits  as  his  salary.  These  facts  were 
not  all  known  at  this  time  to  the  young  Quaker,  who 
merely  looked  on  the  Jew  as  a  rich  pawnbroker, 
ardent  in  the  Whig  cause ;  but  enough  was  known  to 
excite  his  interest. 

The  last  bolt  of  the  outer  door  was  carefully  drawn ; 
the  second  door  passed  and  bolted  behind  them  with 
equal  care ;  and  they  were  in  a  room  of  considerable 
size,  filled  with  a  most  miscellaneous  collection  of 
articles;  through  which  they  found,  with  some  difficulty, 
a  meandering  way.  At  the  farther  side  the  pawn 
broker  opened  a  door,  and  a  blaze  of  light  shone  out 
from  an  exceedingly  well-lighted  apartment.  The 
young  Quaker  entered  and  found  himself  in  a  com 
pany — rather  extraordinary  for  a  pawnbroker's  house, 
at  midnight. 

There  were  three  persons  present :  the  most  striking, 
a  tall  and  rather  slender  man,  some  forty  years  old,  or 
thereabouts ;  with  a  face  remarkably  handsome,  except 
the  nose,  which  was  rather  prominent,  eyes  keen  and 
bright,  and  his  general  appearance  manifesting  great 


100  THE   QUAKER  SOLDIER. 

vigor  and  energy.  He  was  dressed  in  full  black,  but  his 
coat  of  a  military  cut  was  evidently  a  chaplain's  uniform. 
Near  by  him  sat  a  man,  not  quite  so  tall  and  considerably 
younger,  but  not  unlike  him  in  figure  and  general 
appearance — except  the  prominent  nasal  sign.  He 
was  in  the  blue  and  buff  of  the  Continental  service ; 
his  epaulettes  at  least  a  captain's,  and  a  pair  of  hand 
some  steel-cut  pistols  with  a  serviceable-looking  sword 
were  stuck  in  his  sash.  The  third  of  the  trio  was  the 
man  in  linsey-woolsey,  who  had  been  with  Major  Rob 
inson  at  the  Coffee-house;  and  whom  we  then  intimat 
ed  to  look  at  best  like  an  equivocal  piece  of  honesty. 

The  three  were  seated  at  a  table  covered  with 
papers,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  young  Quaker,  the 
two  officers  sprung  up  to  welcome  him ;  being 
evidently  old  acquaintance. 

"Dr.  Jones!  Captain M'Lane !"  exclaimed  the  Quaker. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you  indeed ;  but  you  run  great  risks. 
Robinson's  Tories  are  in  town  looking  for  you;  on  the 
wrong  track,  however." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  sounded  in  a  low  chuckling  laugh 
from  the  man  in  linsey-woolsey. 

"Our  friend  here,  Mark  Bartle," — said  Captain 
M'Lane — "  could  tell  you  something  of  that,  since  he 
sent  them  astray.  Let  me  make  you  acquainted  with 
Mark:  a  true  man — though  you  may  see  him  under 
various  colors.  And  Mark,  let  me  make  you  acquain 
ted  with  Mr.  Hazlewood ;  that  rare  animal,  a  Quaker 
Whig — rari  aves — how  is  it  doctor?  you  are  a  Latinist 
— as  our  old  schoolmaster  had  it." 

"Never  mind  the  Latin,  M'Lane" — replied  the  chap 
lain — "stick  to  the  English — stick  to  the  English." 


SOLOMON    ISAAKSKI    THE    PAWNBROKER.         101 

"Stick  to  the  English!  rather  curious  advice  from 
you,  doctor — eh!" 

"  Do  be  serious  for  once,  M'Lane.  We  wish  our 
Quaker  Whig  to  know  Mark — and  trust  him ;  he  may 
have  occasion  for  his  services." 

"You  may  trust  him  implicitly,  as  a  true  Whig," 
resumed  the  chaplain.  "I  can  vouch  for  him;  I  have 
known  him  from  infancy;  know  his  father  well,  and 
all  his  kin ;  so  you  need  not  suspect  him  when  you  see 
him — as  you  often  will — under  Tory  colors." 

"On  your  assurance,  Doctor,  I  will  trust  him" — said 
the  young  Quaker,  offering  his  hand.  Mark  Bartle 
took  the  hand  thus  offered,  and  held  it  an  instant  with 
Borne  emotion;  then  said;  "You  doubt  me,  sir;  you 
doubt  me,  I  see  you  do ;  I  wish — oh !  how  I  wish, 
every  true  Whig  to  know  me  as  I  really  am." 

"Tut,  Mark,"  said  the  chaplain,  "what  nonsense! 
We  know  what  you  are.  General  Wayne  knows  what 
you  are.  Even  his  excellency,  the  commander-in-chief, 
has  heard  of  you — " 

"What!     Washington  himself?" 

"  Himself.  I  have  spoken  of  you  to  him.  I  shall  men 
tion  your  services  to-day — " 

"Will  you,  Doctor;  will  you?  And  he  has  heard 
of  me — he — that's  enough  for  me;  I'll  never,  feel  bad 
again  at  being  a  spy.  But,  Doctor,  did  not  I  trick  the 
Tory  major ;  sent  him  down  to  old  mother  Pieroe's  to 
catch  Whigs !  How  he'll  rout  the  old  woman  out  of 
bed  to  search  her  house !" 

"Mark,"  said  the  chaplain  seriously,  "you  tangled 
your  business  too  much  when  you  enlisted  as  Major 
Robinson's  spy;  it  was  dangerous  enough  to  pass  your 
self  off  as  a  Tory,  in  order  to  gain  intelligence.  You 


102  THE  QUAKER   SOLDIER. 

will  find  yourself  strung  up  some  of  these  days  a  foot 
or  so  too  high." 

"I  like  it,  Doctor;  I  like  to  handle  a  tangled  skein. 
As  to  the  hanging,  I  don't  believe  hemp  harder  than 
lead ;  and  would  as  lief  die  by  one  as  by  the  other. 
In  the  cause  of  our  country  you  do  not  fear  a  bullet, 
and  I  don't  fear  a  rope." 

"That's  a  new  view  of  the  matter,"  interposed 
M'Lane;  "and  philosophically  considered,  perhaps 
right.  But  Doctor — to  show  you  I  can  be  serious — let 
us  finish  our  business." 

"Yes — well,"  resumed  the  chaplain.  "Mr.  Isaakski 
will  receive  the  reports  of  our  city  agents,  and  for 
ward  the  intelligence  through  Mark  and  other  men. 
All  is  arranged  I  think ;  is  it  not,  M'Lane  ?" 

"I  do  not  recollect  any  thing  else." 

"And  now,  Mark,  you  may  go.  And  we  may  go 
also.  I  shall  leave  the  town  immediately.  When  do 
you  set  off  M'Lane, — with  me?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Doctor,  I  mean  to  sleep  in 
town ;  and  to-morrow  I  mean  to  hold  possession  until 
the  British  march  in  and  drive  me  out." 

"You '."exclaimed  the  chaplain;  "one  of  your  hair- 
brained  adventures  is  in  the  wind,  I  suppose." 

"But  Eobiuson's  Tories  are  already  in  town,"  said 
Mark. 

"It  must  be  only  a  marauding  excursion;  they  will 
be  withdrawn  before  daylight,"  replied  M'Lane. 

"  What  force  have  you  ?" 

"Fifteen;  the  rest  are  escorting  the  stores  up  the 
river." 

"But  where  are  they — in  your  breeches  pocket?" 

"At  a  good  Whig  tavern  in  Sassafras  street.     The 


SOLOMON   ISAAKSKI    THE    PAWNBROKER.         108 

men  are  in  the  hay-mow ;  the  equipments  under  the 
hay ;  the  horses  in  the  stable  beneath." 

"Hah!"  laughed  the  chaplain;  "but,  Mark,  you  may 
go.  And  remember  when  you  come  to  Mr.  Isaakski 
by  night,  you  give  three  distinct  knocks.  Now  go." 
Mark  Bartle  was  conducted  out  of  the  house  by  a  back 
door  which  led  toward  the  river. 

"Does  the  Jew  know  you,  Hazlewood?"  said 
M'Lane. 

"Only  as  a  Whig  Quaker.  I  was  introduced  to  him 
by  a  letter  from  his  Excellency." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  him  who  you  really  are  ?" 

"  While  I  remain  in  Philadelphia,  I  am  nobody  but 
Charles  Hazlewood — even  to  my  most  confidential 
friends." 

"  Yet  Mark  Bartle  knew  you ;  I  could  see  he  did. 
But  you  can  trust  him;  your  secret  is  safe  in  his 
keeping." 

The  pawnbroker  now  returned,  and  at  his  entrance 
spoke : 

"  Gentlemens,  vill  you  break  bread  mit  me  ?  You 
be  hungry  rnens  I  knows ;  come  mit  me." 

"  True  enough.  I  have  been  too  busy  to  eat  much 
to-day,"  said  M'Lane,  as  they  all  rose  from  their  seats 
and  followed  the  Jew. 

The  place  he  led  them  to,  was  up  a  short  flight  of 
stairs,  in  the  back  buildings  of  the  house.  "Here  is 
mine  library  and  dining-room,"  said  the  Jew.  As  they 
approached,  the  door  was  thrown  suddenly  open — by 
some  machinery  we  suppose — and  a  perfect  blaze  of 
light  flashed  into  the  dark  entry.  The  young  Quaker 
was  perfectly  dazzled  and  astonished,  and  at  every 
step  as  he  entered,  his  astonishment  increased.  Never 


104  THE   QUAKER   SOLDIER. 

in  the  colonies — never  anywhere — had  his  eyes  be 
held  any  thing  like  the  scene.  His  companions,  who 
were  untraveled  men,  used  only  to  the  homely  things 
of  a  new  country,  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation. 
The  apartment  could  have  been  fitted  up  only  in  a 
dream,  or  by  the  gorgeous  tastes  of  the  Orient. 

They  were  in  a  tent  surpassingly  magnificent. 
Crimson  cloth  of  cashmere  flowing  from  the  centre 
gracefully  to  the  walls,  was  gathered  there  by  a  golden 
cord  into  Saracenic  arches,  each  forming  with  its 
drapery  a  gentle  alcove ;  and  in  each  alcove  was  a 
divan  of  some  unknown,  but  rich  and  lustrous  fabric; 
between  every  alcove,  all  around,  hands  of  burnished 
silver  stretched  forth,  holding  each  a  lighted  waxen 
torch.  In  one  of  the  alcoves  hung  a  magnificent 
Turkish  sabre — the  cold  blue  light  of  its  Damascus 
blade,  chastening  the  sparkling  diamonds  of  its  jew 
eled  hilt;  and  beneath,  an  equally  splendid  dagger  and 
a  pair  of  plain  but  costly  pistols ;  but  no  other  furniture 
of  any  kind  appeared.  Neither  doors  nor  windows  were 
seen,  and  even  their  place  of  entrance  was  hidden  by 
the  drapery  which  fell  behind  them  as  they  advanced. 

Following  their  host,  they  walked  across  the  mid 
dle  of  the  tent,  their  feet  at  every  step  sinking  deep 
into  a  luxurious  Persian  carpet.  At  the  further  end, 
the  drapery  of  the  back  of  an  alcove  rolled  up,  by 
some  invisible  means,  and  displayed  through  the  open 
arch,  another  tent  even  more  gorgeous,  though  smaller. 
In  place  of  divans  were  cushioned  arm-chairs  of  rare 
workmanship  and  luxurious  pattern,  and  the  back  of 
each  alcove  was  a  single  mirror ;  but  there  seemed  no 
other  difference  in  the  furniture. 

"Dis  ish  me  dining-room,  toder  ish  me  library  vare 


SOLOMON    ISAAKSKI    THE    PAWNBROKER.         105 

I  pass  me  solitude,"  said  the  Jew.  "  Pray  sit  down, 
and  honor  me  bread." 

The  guests  saw  no  signs  of  table,  nor  preparations 
for  a  feast,  but  they  felt  a  little  as  if  they  were  in  an 
enchanted  land,  and  each  chose  an  arm-chair. 

"  Not  in  dat  one,"  said  the  host,  pointing  to  a  chair 
marked  SACRED,  "dat  ish  his  chair;  Vashington  sat  in 
dat  chair  ven  he  honor  me  roof,  and  none  oder  ever 
sits  dare." 

"  Noble  fellow !"  exclaimed  M'Lane. 

"You  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  days  of  your 
great  forefathers,"  said  the  chaplain;  "you  are  worthy 
of  the  best  of  the  Bern  Israel." 

The  Jew  seemed  moved,  but  merely  said — after  a 
moment's  pause,  "Pray  be  seated,  gentlemens." 

As  they  sat  down,  a  table  rose  from  beneath  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  chastely  set  out  with  plain  silver 
plates  and  goblets  and  other  table  furniture,  and  sup 
plied  with  substantial  viands,  such  as  a  "good-man's" 
larder  might  supply  on  a  sudden  call.  At  the  same 
instant,  their  chairs  began  to  move,  and  slowly 
approached  the  table. 

"  This  is  magic,"  exclaimed  M'Lane. 

"Your  machinery  is  perfect,"  said  the  young  Quaker; 
"  as  noiseless  as  the  movements  of  the  stars." 

But  it  was  some  time  before  any  of  the  company, 
not  even  the  chaplain  and  captain,  could  do  justice  to 
the  good  cheer  before  them — so  struck  were  they 
all  with  a  scene,  which  none  of  them  had  ever 
dreamed  of.  The  first  who  recovered  himself  com 
pletely  was  the  young  Quaker,  who  spoke. 

"You  are  a  Sybarite,  Mr.  Isaakski." 

"  I  do  love  mine  ease,"  answered  the  Jew.    "  Vy  not  ? 


106  THE   QUAKER    SOLDIER. 

vat  for  ish  de  monies  but  to  enjoy  dem;  ve  cannot 
take  dem  mit  us  ven  ve  dies." 

"Few  have  such  taste  in  providing  enjoyment.  See 
here,  Captain  M'Lane,"  he  touched  the  spring,  which 
rolled  down  the  back  of  his  arm  chair  and  converted 
it  into  a  lounge ;  "  see  here." 

"  My  yung  frend,"  said  the  Jew,  "  you  ish  prema 
ture,  finish  your  meat  first  and  den  lie  down." 

"Ha,  ha!  but  now  tell  me  about  these  tents.  What 
is  your  fancy  for  fitting  up  your  apartments  like 
tents  ?" 

"I  vill  tell  you.  I  love  de  tent;  me  faders  dwelt  in 
de  tent,  tree  tousand  year  ago,  and  a  curse  has  been  on 
de  Beni  Israel  since  ve  leave  de  tent  and  live  in  de 
house.  I  do  love  de  tent,  and  here  I  lives  in  me  tent, 
ven  not  busy ;  dough  none  comes  here  but  mine 
chosen  friends;  here  I  lives  and  fancies  meself  in  de 
desert  of  the  Holy  Land.  Oh!  mine  yung  frend  do 
not  laugh  at  me  tent." 

"Laugh  at  your  tent!  If  I  were  like  you,  a  descen 
dant  of  the  chosen  race,  I  would  worship  the  tent — or 
weep  over  it — as  a  symbol  of  our  departed  greatness. 
And  your  tent !  it  is  worthy  of  Solomon  ben  David ; 
the  summer  tent  of  the  Grand  Seignor  is  not  more 
magnificent." 

"  Have  you  been  in  de  East  ?" 

The  young  Quaker  replied  in  some  language, 
guttural  enough  for  Arabic,  and  a  short  conversa 
tion  ensued  in  the  unknown  tongue,  closed  by  the 
remark  in  English: — "Excuse  us,  gentlemen,  we  for 
got  that  we  are  not  now  in  the  East." 

11  Me  yung  friend  astonishes  rne,"  added  the  Jew, 
"  he  has  been  all  over  the  Eastern  land ;  even  among 


SOLOMON  ISAAKSKI  THE   PAWNBROKER.         107 

the  Hebrews  of  Balk ;  and  he  speak  all  de  language. 
But  you  no  vare  see  Hebrews  not  oppressed  ?" 

"Nowhere!" 

"  He  no  vare  see  Hebrews  not  oppressed." 

The  Jew  paused — as  if  under  a  new  train  of  thought 
— and  a  cloud  darkened  the  usual  joyousness  of  his 
countenance;  then  his  voice  burst  forth:  "Oh  me 
frends,  dis  cause  must  not  go  down !  It  is  de  cause 
of  me  own  race  and  peoples ;  it  is  mine  own  cause. 
Every  vare  ve  Hebrews  are  treated  as  brute-beasts, 
not  as  mens ;  ve  hab  no  rights,  but  de  right  to  make 
moneys  for  de  oppressors.  If  dis  cause  succeed  ve  vill 
be  mens,  and  citizens,  and  freemens ;  den  you  vill  see 
vat  ve  Hebrews  can  be.  Oh  !  mine  frends,  ve  vill  be 
like  oder  mens,  ifoder  mens  vill  let  us.  Me  frends! 
me  frends !  dis  cause  must  not  go  down !  ve  mus  fight 
for  it  till  de  death  I  Meself  vill  fight  too !"  He  sprung 
up  with  an  activity  no  one  could  anticipate  in  his 
unwieldy  figure  and  rushed  into  the  other  tent,  to 
the  great  astonishment  of  his  guests,  whence  he 
returned  in  a  minute  or  two,  fully  armed  with  pistols, 
dagger  and  sabre ;  his  countenance  lighted  up  with 
enthusiasm,  and  his  whole  appearance  martial.  "  Me 
vill  fight  too!  Me  bear  arms  once !  Me  vill  fight  in 
dis  cause  till  de  death." 

The  chaplain  sprung  to  his  feet,  exclaiming :  li  My 
noble  friend !  My  brother  in  that  vow !  I  also  am 
of  a  proscribed  race — the  Puritans — proscribed  since 
the  Eestoration,  as  yours  has  been  since  the  great 
siege.  Side  by  side  we  fight  the  battle  of  proscribed 
and  oppressed  men,  and  we  will  fight  to  the  death ! 
We  cannot  be  coaauered.  We  cannot  be  conquered! 
Never !  never  1" 


108  THE   QUAKER    SOLDIER. 

"  Ve  cannot  be  conquered !  Never !  never !"  exclaimed 
the  Jew. 

"Never!  never!"  added  the  young  Quaker  and  the 
captain.  This  burst  of  enthusiasm  was  followed  by  a 
moment  of  silence;  which  was  first  broken  by  the  Jew: 
"I  vish  Vashington  could  have  held  Philadelphia." 

"A  fig  for  Philadelphia,"  said  the  chaplain,  snapping 
his  fingers.  "  It  only  gives  the  enemy  winter-quarters, 
no  more:  their  only  gain  is  to  lodge  in  houses  instead 
of  lodging  in  the  fields — as  we  must.  Why,  Mr. 
Isaakski,  they  have  not  opened  the  Delaware,  and  they 
cannot;  but  if  they  do,  their  only  gain  will  be  feeding 
their  troops  by  water.  What  do  you  say,  M'Lane  ?" 

"I  see  no  reason  to  be  discouraged  by  the  loss  of 
the  Brandy  wine  and  the  fall  of  Philadelphia.  Indeed 
their  occupation  of  this  city  will  injure  more  than 
help  them.  They  cannot  keep  it,  and  by  abandoning 
it  they  will  lose  more  character  than  if  they  had  never 
taken  it  at  all." 

It  was  now  very  late,  and  after  a  few  more  general 
remarks  the  company  separated. 

The  Jew  carefully  locked  and  bolted  and  barred  his 
doors  after  his  retiring  guests,  returned  again  to  his 
dining-room,  divested  himself  of  arms,  and  of  coat, 
shoes  and  neckcloth — unclasped  his  knee-buckles, 
drew  on  a  rich  oriental  gown,  a  pair  of  slippers  and 
a  turban.  Then  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the  chairs ; 
changed  it  into  a  lounge;  adjusted  the  cushions  under 
his  head  and  back  and  shoulders,  so  that  gently  reclin 
ing,  he  could  reach  the  table  with  his  right  hand.  A 
plate  of  Smyrna  figs  and  a  bottle  of  Shirauz  wine  were 
drawn  near  enough  to  be  reached ;  he  filled  a  goblet 
and  took  a  gentle  sip,  followed  by  a  gentle  taste  of 


SOLOMON  ISAAKSKI  THE   PAWNBROKER.          109 

one  of  the  figs.  Thus  he  continued  sipping  the  Shirauz 
and  tasting  the  figs;  his  whole  countenance  a  mirror  of 
gratified  wishes  ;  and  his  meditations  as,  luxurious  as 
his  outward  comforts. 

"Solomon,  son  of  David,  you  were  a  wise  man,"  ran 
the  tenor  of  his  musing,  "  and  you  enjoyed  the  good 
things  of  life ;  you  took  your  ease — your  ease — and 
you  were  right.  You  had  a  kingdom  to  trouble  you 
however,  and  I  have  not!  I  am  luckier  than  you.  I 
have  nothing,  nothing,  nothing  but  these  revolted 
colonies !  and  a  great  fool  I  was  to  bring  this  trouble 
on  myself.  What  were  they  to  me  that  I  should 
sacrifice  my  ease  to  them !  my  ease  to  them !"  the 
chain  of  thought  was  gradually  fading  into  the  obliv- 
iousness  of  sleep,  but  ere  entirely  unconscious,  he 
touched  a  spring  in  the  table.  As  if  under  magic, 
tables  and  viands  sunk  gradually  downward  through 
the  floor;  and  in  their  place,  after  a  few  minutes, 
appeared  a  marble  stand  with  a  basin  and  ewer  of 
oriental  fashion,  and  every  convenience  for  drink  or 
ablution.  But  ere  this  the  luxurious  Israelite  was 
entirely  asleep. 

Shortly  afterward  a  female,  exquisitely  beautiful, 
in  fact  the  fairest  of  Circassians,  entered  the  room,  fol 
lowed  by  an  aged  Nubian.  Softly  as  their  steps  could 
fall,  they  walked  up  to  the  Israelite.  The  Circassian 
looked  at  her  husband  a  moment  in  silence,  made  a 
sign  to  the  negress,  and  softly  retired.  The  negress 
extinguished  the  waxen  torches ;  except  a  single  one 
in  a  distant  corner,  which  shed  a  soft  twilight  through 
the  tents,  and  she  too  retired. 

Such  were  the  domestic  habits — the  private  life — 
of  the  rich  Polish  Jew ;  a  type  of  the  oriental  man — for 


